Dangerous Times
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: Set between seasons 2 and 3. Jack and Irina work together to find Sydney's killers.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: These are not my characters.

Chapter One

_May, Los Angeles_

There was a time, twenty years earlier, when Jack Bristow thought his life couldn't possibly get any worse. His wife had just died, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Finding out his whole marriage had been a lie – that the woman he loved had never existed – the only way he could cope was to bury everything he'd felt for her.

As he pulled up outside his house, he realized he had been wrong. Life could – and had – become much worse.

_Sydney_.

He pictured her face before him; smiling, as she almost always was. Somehow, despite his failures as a father, she'd turned out perfect. But now she was dead, reduced to nothing more than ashes scattered on a breeze.

Jack felt that same hopelessness as when he'd been told his wife was dead.

He walked up the driveway slowly, reluctant to enter the house Sydney had grown up in. He should have sold it before now, he thought, but somehow he'd never been able to bring himself to do it. Even as he didn't want to face the ghosts of his memory, he knew now that he would never be able to sell it.

Once inside, he headed straight for the liquor cabinet. There was no one to tell him not to drink, and right now he needed the numbness alcohol would bring. There would be time tomorrow to start looking for the people responsible for Sydney's death. He couldn't think of that now, not today, not while he wore funeral black and had traces of ash on his hands.

The scotch burned down his throat, and he refilled the glass.

"You were supposed to protect her."

He turned, unsurprised to see Irina leaning against the door. What did surprise him was her appearance. Gone was the confident woman who'd smirked at him from inside her glass cage, gone was the woman who whispered promises she never intended to keep in Panama. In her place was someone else, someone as broken and as in pain as he was.

He took another sip of scotch, and told himself this was an act. She didn't care; she'd never cared. "You're one to talk."

There was a flash of anger in her eyes, before it was replaced by hurt. "Tell me it's not true. Tell me it's a plot, to bring me out of hiding."

"That would only work on the presumption that you gave a damn."

"Tell me she's not dead, Jack!"

He ignored the pain in her voice, ignored his own feeling of loss, and slowly crossed the room and took her hands in his. He squeezed them, released them, then wiped his hands on her chest, leaving faint flecks of grey. "That's all that's left of her."

Irina shook her head. Her mouth formed the word, "No," but there was no sound.

"So, no, Irina, this isn't to bring you out of hiding. Not everything is about you."

She slapped him, hard enough for him to stumble backwards. He realized then that he'd gone too far; it occurred to him that maybe her pain was real.

He didn't want to think that. He didn't want to believe in her, not again, not this time.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then she launched herself at him. He caught her by the wrists, and flung her aside. She stumbled, catching her hip on the table. She grabbed his glass and threw it at him. He ducked, and it shattered against the wall. She threw the bottle next; he wasn't so quick and it clipped his head as it sailed past.

He stuck out his leg, tripping her, and she fell, twisting midway so that she landed on her hands and knees instead of on her back. She swung out her leg and knocked him off balance; he tumbled down on top of her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerked her head backwards, then suddenly released her.

"You're bleeding," he said.

She looked down at her hands, shards of glass embedded in the skin. She shrugged, then looked at him again. "So are you."

"Come with me."

He led the way to the master bedroom without stopping to see if she would follow. In the en suite bathroom, he took out a first aid kit from the cabinet and turned to face Irina. She wasn't there.

He found her standing in the middle of the bedroom, looking around the room they'd once shared. Her expression was unreadable, and Jack decided he didn't have the strength or the energy to figure out what she was thinking.

"Irina."

She blinked, looked at him, then walked past him into the bathroom. She was about to open the first aid kit when he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Let me."

He used a pair of tweezers to pull the glass from her palms, keeping his attention focused on her injury to avoid thinking of other things. Once her hands were free of glass, he dabbed a piece of cotton wool with antiseptic and began cleaning the cuts.

"I don't think you need stitches," he said. He looked up to find her smiling. "What?"

"It used to be the other way around. Now you're the one playing nursemaid to me."

Before he could respond, she took a fresh piece of cotton wool and gently cleaned the graze on his cheek.

He closed his eyes; this was too much. It was as if no time had passed at all, and they were still married, and at any moment Sydney was going to come knocking at the door demanding her goodnight kiss.

"Why are you here, Irina?" It came out less aggressive than he intended.

Her hand stilled, and it was a full minute before she spoke. "I had to make sure."

He didn't realize he'd slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer until they were standing chest to chest. "No one knows what really happened. She must have discovered Francie was the second double – Did you know?"

She shook her head. "Not until I was extracted. By then it was too late."

"You could have said something! Her best friend—"

"Jack." She put her fingers against his lips. "I'm going to find whoever did this. I'm going to kill them."

Jack studied her. When Sydney was growing up, he saw her mother in her features and sometimes it hurt to look at her. Now, looking at Irina, he could see Sydney in her, and it hurt just as much, but for different reasons.

"_We're_ going to kill them," he said.

She nodded, then stepped out of his embrace. "I'll be in touch."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_June, Berlin_

"Let me look at it." Irina stood in the doorway to the bathroom, watching Jack as he tried to examine the wound on his shoulder. He paused to glare at her.

"I've got it."

Biting back a sigh of irritation, she stepped into the bathroom and plucked the bloodied towel from Jack's hand.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you, you idiot. What does it look like?" She finished cleaning the wound, relieved the bullet had just nicked him. A few inches to the left and it would have been a much more serious injury. She let her touch linger longer than was necessary, partly to reassure herself that Jack was really okay, and partly for reasons she wasn't ready to think about yet. Seeing him injured never failed to shake her.

"Will I live?" His tone was sarcastic.

"Barring any further stupidity on your part, maybe."

"Stupidity?" He grabbed her wrist, holding tighter than was comfortable.

"You're no good to me dead, Jack." Wrenching her wrist free, she turned and stalked into the bedroom. Honestly. Sometimes that man infuriated her. What was supposed to have been a simple recon mission turned into a disaster. At least they'd got the information they were looking for, she thought, glancing at the computer chip on the dresser. Despite Jack's misguided wish to play hero.

"Next time," Jack said as he entered the room, "I'll just let them shoot you."

He sat down on the edge of the bed; their cover had necessitated a single room, but right now Irina wished for her own space. Maybe she should make Jack sleep on the floor, she thought maliciously. It would serve him right for making her worry.

"Your intel was wrong," he said, sounding like a pouty adolescent.

Irina wasn't in the mood. "Fuck you."

"You've already done that, sweetheart."

She glared at him; most men would have already left the room when faced with that look. Of course, Jack wasn't most men. He was her husband.

But the only reason he was with her tonight was because their daughter was dead.

Suddenly too tired to fight, she sank into one of the chairs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Tell me, Jack, if our roles were reversed, wouldn't you have done the same thing for your country?"

He was silent for a while. Then, "I don't hate you for being KGB. I can understand that. I can accept that."

"What then?" She looked up in surprise.

"You didn't trust me enough to tell me."

"What would you have done, Jack? You were so patriotic then. Your country first—"

"My family first. I would have left the CIA. I was planning to leave anyway, remember?"

She said nothing, but kept looking at him, and could see the change in his expression as he realized.

"That's why you left, isn't it?"

Truth time. "I had to. But I thought, as long as you had Sydney, you'd be fine without me."

"Then you never understood that I wasn't alive until I met you." He stood. "You should have trusted me."

He returned to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. She heard the lock click, and the tears welling in her eyes spilled down her cheeks.

He would never understand those last few weeks, she thought bitterly. He would never know how close she had come to telling him everything, and how only fear for his life, Sydney's life, had stopped her. He would never know that she cried all the way to the river. He would never know about Kashmir.

There were more things she could tell him, but as she stared at the closed door, she knew it was too late.

He would never believe her.

As soon as they found who was responsible for Sydney's death, their fragile alliance would be over, and they would part ways. She might as well start getting used to that now.

As she crawled into the bed, she knew he'd break her heart again.

Something else he would never know.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_July, Singapore_

Jack stood on the bridge over the river, the Esplanade on one side, the Merlion on the left. He watched the reflection of lights play on the water, and slapped irritably at a mosquito on his neck. He hated the tropics.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"You're late."

"Sorry. The play only finished now."

He turned to look at her then. She was dressed for a night out, a low-cut black dress enticing Jack's imagination. His immediate reaction was one of appreciation, then possessiveness, and finally irritation.

"You went to the theatre? I travel halfway across the world to meet you and you've gone to the theatre?"

She hooked her arm through his and began walking in the direction of the Merlion. "Lower your voice, Jack. People are staring."

"Irina—"

She kissed him, stunning him into silence, but he was even more annoyed when she pulled away.

"What the hell are you playing at?"

Her expression turned serious, and she handed him the programme from the play. He glanced at the cover, and couldn't help smirking.

"The Taming of the Shrew?"

"There's a disk inside. One of my associates came across some information he thought might be useful to us."

"Who knows we're working together?"

"No one. He brought it to me; I'm giving it to you. That's why I used 'us'." She looked out over the river.

Jack folded the programme around the disk and slipped it into his pocket. "Thanks."

"Jack, Sloane didn't kill her."

"You've been in contact with Sloane?" He grabbed her arm, hard enough that she gasped aloud, and he spun her to face him.

"Indirectly."

"That's a yes." His grip tightened.

"Could you at least pretend to trust me? Long enough to let me explain?"

He searched her expression for a moment, but it revealed nothing, as usual. He released her arm. "Explain then."

"He thought she was the Chosen One. He wouldn't have killed her."

"Are you listening to yourself? Are we talking about the same man here? It's Arvin Sloane."

Irina absently rubbed the spot Jack had held her, and he felt slightly guilty when he saw how red the skin was. "The information I've given you – have you heard anything about a group called the Covenant?"

"There's been some vague chatter," he admitted. "Nothing concrete. You think they're responsible?"

"It's a possibility." She hugged herself as though chilled, though the air was humid. "It could be anyone. Your enemies, my enemies, her own enemies. She deserved a better life than what she had."

Jack hesitantly put his arm around her shoulders. To any passerby they looked like a couple on their way home from an evening's entertainment. It was tempting to believe that, just for a moment.

"We'll find them," he said.

She looked up at him and smiled. The breeze teased the loose pieces of hair around her face, and Jack's breath caught in his throat. No one was more surprised than him when he bent his head forward to kiss her.

"Careful, Jack." Her tone was teasing. "There's a reason they call this a _fine_ city."

"Stupid public decency laws." He smiled, and he knew she was also thinking of an ill-fated trip to the beach about a year into their marriage.

She tilted her head; her eyes shifted to look at something over his shoulder. "I have a hotel room."

He blinked, taken aback. "I – I have a plane to catch."

"Of course." She met his gaze again and this time her smile was hard. "The thirteenth. Rome."

As she turned to go, he caught her hand. "Irina, wait."

She stopped, but didn't turn to look at him. Without thinking about what he was doing, he walked around so he was in front of her, and gave her a searing kiss, public decency laws be damned.

Then he stepped back and smiled. "See you next month."

"Bastard," he heard as he walked to the street to catch a taxi, but when he turned around to wave goodbye, she was smiling.

"To the airport? Okay, lah." The driver's accent was thick, and Jack had to concentrate to follow. "You have good time in Singapore, lah?"

Jack held in his mind's eye the image of Irina in that dress, loose tendrils of hair softening her face, and he nodded. "Yes, yes, I did."

He smiled all the way to the airport.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_August, Rome_

Irina sat at a table of one of many outdoor coffee shops in the square. She saw Jack approaching, but pretended not to, and quietly sipped her coffee. When he sat down, she said, "You're late."

"The CIA has called off the search for Sydney's – for them."

Her cup rattled against the saucer as she replaced it. "Incompetent fools." She swore under her breath. "They wouldn't have found anything anyway."

"I'm one of those incompetent fools," Jack said, an obvious attempt at lifting the mood. It didn't work.

Irina reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "No, you're not."

"Irina—"

"How can you still have any shred of loyalty to them? After everything they've done . . ." She trailed off. Six months in solitary when his grieving daughter needed him – when she'd heard that, her heart had shattered further. Practically forced into being a double agent to prove his patriotism. Now this, essentially telling him that his daughter's death wasn't worth the trouble it took to find her murderers.

Not for the first time, she wondered how different things would have been if she'd told the truth from the beginning.

"Would you rather I came to work for you?"

She said nothing for a long time, and simply stared at Jack, not sure how serious he was. He didn't sound as if he was joking, but still . . . she couldn't fool herself into thinking this was the same man she'd married. She'd lost faith in her ability to read him these days.

Then she smiled, deciding she could play the same game. "You'd work with me, Jack, not for me."

He turned his hand, palm facing upwards, and linked his fingers with hers. "You know I can't."

She wondered if she only imagined the trace of regret she heard in his voice. But the fact that he'd brought it up in the first place was encouraging, so she pushed harder. "What will you do once we've found them? Sydney's killers, once they're gone?"

He stroked her skin with his thumb. He waited so long to reply that she thought he wasn't going to, and then he said, "Ask me again, when this is all over."

"Do you mean that?"

"Everything I've done for the last thirty years has been for Sydney, to keep her safe. I failed at that. She's all I had left, and now . . ." He broke eye contact with her, and waved at one of the waitresses.

You're wrong, Irina thought, but she knew well enough to leave the subject alone. For now.

"I've managed to get someone inside the Covenant," she said once the waitress had taken Jack's order. "It's still too early for her to know anything of value, but—"

"Can we trust her?"

"Absolutely." Irina wondered what Jack would say if he knew that the operative in question had asked the same question about him. She hid her smile; Katya had never understood Irina's feelings for Jack.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me who this person is," Jack muttered.

"It's best if you don't know."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she beat him to it. "Trust me on this, Jack. Please."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "I'm probably the only person in the world crazy enough to do that."

His words were softened by his smile, and the teasing expression on his face, and they sat smiling at each other until the waitress brought Jack's coffee.

Struck by a sudden sense of foreboding, Irina said, "Jack, promise me you'll be careful. If the CIA finds out you've been in contact with me—"

"As you so eloquently put it just now, the CIA is a bunch of incompetent fools."

"I'm serious, Jack."

"I'm not an amateur."

"I know." How could she explain the sudden panic she'd felt? She, who never panicked, who was often reckless to the point of endangering her own life. Would Jack even believe her concern for him was real?

"When do we meet again?"

"Two weeks?"

He nodded. "I'll email you with a location."

She slid a gift bag across the table; inside it was a computer disk containing the information she'd managed to gather on the Covenant. In return, Jack passed her a gift-wrapped box. She smiled, then stood.

"It was good to see you again, Jack."

He raised her hand to his lips, letting his mouth linger. "Stay safe."

In the privacy of her car, she opened the box. In addition to a disk, Jack had given her chocolates.

Yes, she thought, she had definitely lost her ability to read her husband.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_September, Johannesburg_

She was late, Jack thought irritably as he glanced at his watch. They were supposed to have met an hour ago, and he'd been sitting in this bar listening to a husky singer warble on about love and broken hearts. If she didn't come soon, he was going to kill her, he decided, and sipped his drink.

"Hey, handsome." A scantily-clad blonde slid onto the stool next to him. It took a moment for Jack to realize she was addressing him. "Looking for some company?"

Amused, Jack shook his head.

The woman scooted closer. "You look lonely."

Jack ordered another drink.

"My name's Katie," the woman said. Then, to the bartender, "I'll have what he's having."

Jack looked around the room, but there was still no sign of Irina. Rather than pay attention to Katie, he focused on the décor. The bar was set up as a shebeen – high class; this was the elite suburb, after all – and Jack idly thought, _this is the city that was built on gold_.

"So, you're American?" Katie glanced at Jack's bare hands. "I like Americans."

Just then, Irina walked in, and Jack knew just by looking at her that something was wrong. She approached him, barely giving a second glance in Katie's direction. Dressed simply in jeans and a plain leather jacket, to Jack she was still the most beautiful woman in the room.

Katie, obviously sensing she wasn't wanted, went in search of someone else to keep her company.

"Hi," Jack said.

Irina sat down and ordered vodka. She held herself too tensely, her facial muscles were too tight, and Jack noticed a slight shake in her hand as she reached for her drink.

"Irina?"

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said.

"Do you have any information?"

"No."

"No?" He looked at her, about to say more, and stopped at the expression on her face. "What happened?"

"My mother died."

He stared at her in shock. He'd never given much thought to Irina's relatives – not in the last few years, anyway. But he looked at his wife now, at how shattered she seemed, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms.

He threw some money on the counter, took her hand, and led her out of the bar. Fortunately his hotel was just across the square, and ten minutes later they were in his room, Irina sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at the bedspread.

"Her heart just stopped," she said eventually, turning tear-filled eyes to Jack. "Just like that. Mama's always been so strong. Sometimes I thought she'd live forever."

She was in shock, Jack thought. Little wonder; her mother and daughter dead within a few months of each other. "When?"

"Three days ago."

"I'm sorry."

"All I wanted was to keep my family safe and now . . ." She shook her head and gave a weak smile. "Don't die anytime soon, okay?"

And then she was in his arms. She seemed so fragile, so unlike the Irina Derevko he had carried in his mind since the first time he'd seen her in that glass cage. Her kiss was familiar, and suddenly the last twenty years had never happened.

"I won't die," he promised.

He ran his hand lightly over her rib cage. She was thin; thinner than she'd been in Panama, and even then Jack had thought she was too thin. But still beautiful, always beautiful.

"Tell me about your mother," he said.

"She—" Irina closed her eyes and Jack watched a range of emotions play across her features. When she opened her eyes, she was in control again. "I think you would have liked her."

"Was she anything like you?"

She shook her head. "I . . . Laura was a lot like her."

Her control wouldn't hold, Jack saw, so he kissed her again. Strange to think that there was a time when he wanted to see Irina in pain, when he wanted to hurt her for all that she'd done. Now, faced with that very thing, all he could do was run his hands through her hair and kiss her tears away.

"Jack—"

"I – Is there anything I can do for you?"

She didn't meet his gaze.

"Irina?"

"Can we pretend, just for tonight, that things are the way they used to be between us? I'm so numb – I've been numb for twenty years and I just want to feel—"

He cut her off with another kiss. She didn't realize how dangerous her question was – then again, maybe neither he did he. Together, they fell back against the pillows.

There were new scars on her body, and he kissed each one. Later he would ask for the stories behind them but for now it was more important to relearn each other. He would tell her the stories of his scars too and maybe they could find a way to heal, just a little.

Losing Sydney was a wound neither would ever recover from, but maybe, together, they would manage to survive it.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_October, Jakarta_

He should have known better than to pick this location during its rainy season, he thought. Technically, it wasn't his fault. He was here for a CIA operation; it was just coincidence that Irina had wanted to meet. If he believed that there was such a thing as coincidence when it came to Irina Derevko, he thought wryly. Still, despite the danger involved in meeting here, he needed to see her. Though he would be the last person to admit it, he was worried about her. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been on the verge of falling apart. If they were going to find Sydney's killers, she needed to have her head in the game. He was the one who would have to make sure she stayed that way. Their night together had been nothing more than comfort. It wouldn't happen again.

It couldn't happen again.

Or so he told himself.

He took shelter under the nearest bus stop and waited for the rain to stop. The shower had come out of the blue and he was hoping, like most of the showers, it would last no more than half an hour. Forty minutes later, he was still waiting, and feeling more than a little uncomfortable in his damp clothes.

A car pulled up in front of the bus stop, and the rear door opened. "Get in," Irina called.

Jack ran the short distance between the bus stop and the car, and was grateful to finally be out of the rain. Irina tossed a towel at him and sighed.

"I hate Jakarta."

"Why's that?" He dried himself as best he could, ignoring the amused look the driver cast in the rearview mirror.

"Too many people." Irina leaned back against the seat, gazing out the window.

Jack studied her, suddenly remembering a similar conversation with Laura. She could be the life of the party, but she needed her own space too. There was a sadness in Irina's expression, one that Jack was growing too familiar with, and without thinking, he reached for her hand.

"Are you okay?"

She turned, giving him a strange look. "Fine, why?"

"I – Never mind." He ran his fingers through his hair, dismayed to find it was beginning to curl. Irina noticed the look on his face, and smiled faintly. "What?"

She shook her head. "I was just thinking of when we first met."

"Oh?"

She raised her hand and ran it over his hair; the expression in her eyes changed, and she let her hand fall. "I've heard Sloane's put up a reward for information on Sydney's death."

He wondered if it was as hard for her to say _Sydney's murder_ as it was for him. Then her words registered, and he frowned. "Sloane put up a reward?"

"Yes."

"Arvin Sloane." Jack's fist closed tightly around the towel, imagining it was Sloane's neck.

"Do you know any other?" The words were teasing, but the tone was not.

Jack looked at her. "Do you still believe he had nothing to do with it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know what I believe anymore."

"He's responsible," Jack choked out. "Maybe indirectly, but he's certainly not blameless. He put the double there."

Irina nodded.

"Sydney's best friend . . ." He glanced out the window. "It's always the people she loved the most that betrayed her."

"Jack—"

"We're as responsible as Sloane. Sydney deserved better parents."

"Jack, look at me."

"What were we thinking, having a child?"

She grabbed his chin, forcing him to turn his head. She pulled him closer, and before he knew what was happening, her mouth was on his.

It was too tempting to do this every time they were together, too tempting to lose himself in her and forget why they were working together in the first place. He pushed her away, rougher than he intended, but one look at her face told him she understood.

The driver, he noticed, was pointedly _not_ looking in the rearview mirror.

"What else did you have for me?" he asked.

She passed him a CD. "My contact inside the Covenant came across this. I've already got people running down the lead."

He reached for it, surprised when she didn't let go immediately.

"It seems Allison Doren is still alive."

He swore. Then, "Well, at least we know the identity of one of the people we're looking for."

The car stopped suddenly, and Jack saw they were outside his hotel. "I'll contact you about next month."

She nodded. As Jack opened the door and stepped out, he heard a soft, "Be careful," but the car was already pulling away by the time it registered.

He could still taste Irina's kiss, and it was with more than a little regret that he watched the car disappear into the stream of traffic.

It had stopped raining.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_November, Vladivostok_

Irina sat on the couch, wearing a sweater she'd stolen from Jack and wrapped in a blanket, her laptop opened in front of her. The last time she'd heard from Jack, he'd let her know it was too dangerous to meet in person, so they were reduced to communication via instant messenger. Irina hated it. If she couldn't see him, she at least wanted to be able to hear his voice. This method was far too impersonal.

Sitting on a couch opposite her, Katya noticed the scowl on her face and laughed. Her frown deepened. Katya studied her a moment longer, then stood up and left the room.

This was home to Irina, where she came when she needed time on her own. It was the safest place she had known for almost twenty years, but there was always something missing. Someone.

Two – no, three someones.

She blinked back sudden tears and wondered if her mood had anything to do with the date. Surely Jack remembered it was the anniversary of Laura's death, but so far he had yet to mention it. And Irina knew better than to bring it up.

Katya remembered; it was the reason she was here with her. Every November Irina retreated to this house; every November Katya showed up and stayed at least a week. They never discussed it, of course, but it was one of the few times in the year that Katya's attitude to her younger sister could only be described as gentle.

The computer beeped softly, announcing a reply.

_Mozart182: YOU OK?_

Irina stared at the words on the screen before typing a reply.

_Handel4me: Yes._

Her hands hovered above the keyboard for a moment.

_Handel4me: You?_

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she waited for his answer.

_Mozart182: BEEN BETTER._

_Mozart182: NEED TO MEET SOON. IMPORTANT._

_Handel4me: Keep checking the London Globe. I'll be in touch._

_Handel4me: Miss you._

Wide-eyed, she stared at what she'd typed. Foolish, she told herself, even as his reply appeared on screen.

_Mozart182: ME TOO._

_Mozart182 has signed out._

"It means nothing," she whispered, and disconnected then shut down the machine. "Nothing."

Katya re-entered carrying two cups, and sat down next to Irina. She gave Irina one of the cups and said, "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be." Irina sipped the tea slowly, savoring the warmth that spread through her.

"He's going to hurt you."

"There's not enough of my heart left to hurt." Another sip.

"I disagree." Katya's tone was gentle; Irina was one of the few who ever got to see this side of her. She put her cup down and moved closer to Irina. "Sydney's dead."

"I know that."

"Why can't you let her go?"

"Because she deserves more than that." Irina straightened, and the tea spilled from her cup, scalding her fingers. Annoyed, she wiped her hands dry on the blanket, then pulled it tighter around herself.

"What about Nadia? What does she deserve?"

"I haven't given up on her. You know that, Katya."

"Have you told Jack yet?"

She clutched her cup tighter and said nothing.

"I thought not." Katya sighed.

"What am I supposed to say? Hey, Jack, just in case you didn't hate me enough, here's another reason. We have another daughter but I lost her when she was a baby. Happy Fathers' Day."

Katya pried the cup from Irina's fingers and set it on the coffee table. Then she put her arms around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You know, Rushka, sometimes telling the truth is an act of love."

"Truth takes time, Katya."

Katya groaned, then swatted Irina with a cushion. "Does he know you love him?"

Irina shook her head sadly. She thought of the ease with which Laura had professed her love for Jack; he'd had twenty years to convince himself she'd been lying. She had no intentions of convincing him of something he didn't want to believe.

Katya sighed. "Oh, Rushka. Stop being so stubborn. You don't have to be strong all the time."

Irina gave her sister a curious glance.

"You know what you need?" Katya continued. "You need to have some fun. We should get out of here and find some lonely, handsome boys—"

"Not tonight, Katenka." Irina climbed off the couch, rearranged the blanket so she could walk, and went to the bedroom, leaving Katya staring after her. If she had looked back, she would have seen her sister seemed completely unsurprised by her reaction.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_December, London_

"Sydney loved Christmas," Jack said, staring into the fire. "She loved life."

They were in one of Irina's many safe houses; Irina had come three days earlier to prepare. For some reason – she didn't even know why – she had set up a Christmas tree in a corner of the living room. She'd also bought Jack a gift, though she wasn't yet sure whether or not she would give it to him.

Now, she got up from the couch and sat on the rug next to Jack. She said nothing – words could not bring their daughter back to life. Instead, she took his hand and laced her fingers through his.

"How did the two of us manage to make such a perfect daughter?" He turned to her, his voice dropping an octave. His eyes were darker than usual, drawing Irina in; she didn't even hear his question as she gently pressed her lips to his.

She pulled away almost immediately. "I'm sorry. I—"

He lowered his head, capturing her mouth with his in a searing kiss.

"This reminds me of our first Christmas together," he said after a while. "Do you remember?"

She nodded. They'd made love on Christmas Eve in front of a fireplace. At that point Irina had still thought she was in control of her mission; months later she finally admitted to herself that by then Jack was already in her heart.

"What exactly do you remember?" Jack's thumb brushed the small of her back.

She moved into a kneeling position, then took Jack's hands and placed them at her waist. "I seem to remember us wearing less clothing."

He smiled, then lifted her sweater off. She raised her arms to make it easier, then patiently waited for him to make the next move. He didn't do anything immediately, but placed his hand above her heart, then slowly slid it down to cup her breast.

The last time they'd slept together, she'd been mourning her mother's death. The time before that had been in Panama, and it had been rough and dirty. Tonight, Irina knew, would be different. Jack hadn't looked at her this way since she'd been Laura.

Slowly, he started massaging her breast. She held herself completely still, a part of her wondering what he was really thinking. Then he reached around her with his free hand, and unclasped her bra. Then he took the clip out of her hair so it fell loose, framing her face.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?"

She leaned forward, placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him. His hands moved to her waist again, and he started fiddling with her belt buckle.

"Stand up," he whispered.

She did as he asked; running her fingers through his hair as he slowly unzipped her jeans, then slid them down her hips. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic of her panties, and slid them down her hips just as slowly, letting his hands linger.

Then he looked up at her and when he smiled it was _her_ Jack who smiled, not the Jack he'd become over the last twenty years. She caressed his cheek; he turned into her hand and kissed her palm.

"I've missed you." _I love you_.

He got to his feet and pulled her against him. As much as she liked the feel of his clothed body against her bare skin, she wanted more. Kissing him, she unbuttoned his shirt, let her hands skim over his chest and shoulders as she pushed it off him. His pants were next, and when they were finally standing skin to skin, he said, "I missed you, too."

They made love slowly, tenderly, and afterwards lay on the rug in front of the fire, watching the flames. Jack traced a pattern on her hipbone, and lightly kissed her shoulder.

"Tell me why you were in prison."

She immediately tensed. "No."

"I want to know."

"No. Ask me anything else and I'll answer you as honestly as I can, but Kashmir is off-limits." Not even Katya knew the full story, and Irina would die before she told a soul what had really happened there.

"I don't need the details." Jack continued to draw random patterns. "I just want to know why."

She pushed his hand away. "Treason."

"You were convicted of treason?" He couldn't hide the shock in his voice.

"Yes."

He said nothing, then moved closer to her. "Lie on your stomach."

"Jack—"

"Please."

Stifling a sigh, she did as he asked. Her breath caught in her throat as he began kissing her back, his hands massaging the areas his mouth had yet to visit. She felt the tension leave her.

They woke up in front of the now-dead fireplace the next morning, slightly sore from sleeping on the floor, but nonetheless cheerful.

"I wish you could stay longer," Irina said, for the moment not caring how much of her heart she revealed with her words.

"Me too."

"I have a present for you." Irina retrieved a gift-wrapped box from beneath the tree. "Open it."

She hid her grin as he carefully unwrapped the box then lifted the lid to reveal a Ruger handgun. "Merry Christmas, Jack. Do you like it?"

He laughed, then pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. "You have always known exactly what to get me."

"I have its twin." She ran her fingers over the barrel of the gun, almost caressing it. "His and hers artillery."

He laughed again, then looked at her for a moment. "Get up for a second."

"I'm quite comfortable, Mr. Bristow."

He began tickling her ribcage, and she surrendered. Jack dug in his bag and took out a gift-wrapped package the size of a shoebox.

Irina couldn't resist teasing: "Is this a tracker?"

"I prefer to give trackers in other ways." He held out the box. "Open it later."

"Okay."

They smiled at each other. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"Merry Christmas."

They kissed again. "Flight. Three. Hours." Jack said between kisses.

"We can save time if we shower together."

"You're probably right."

An hour later, after Jack had finally left for the airport, Irina sat on the couch and held his gift in her hands. She unwrapped it slowly, and smiled when she realized the care he'd taken to wrap it.

It was a shoebox, she discovered, but instead of shoes there were dozens of letters, some loose, some tied together with ribbons. She picked up one and unfolded it, then gasped when she realized what he'd given her.

_Dear Mommy_, it began, in a child's careful script, _I miss you very much_ . . .

"Thank you, Jack," she whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_January, Kandahar_

If there was one thing Irina had learned in her lifetime, it was that things rarely went according to plan. Usually, the higher the stakes, the more likely it was that something would go wrong. Katya had argued with her about the wisdom of going on this mission.

"You can't trust the source," she'd said. "You haven't even verified if these are the people you're looking for."

Irina had paused in her packing. "These people killed Sydney."

"So you've been told."

And Irina had left without giving her sister a proper response. Now, sitting outside a compound in the middle of nowhere, she wondered if Katya was right. Maybe she was too caught up in her thirst for revenge.

"You okay?"

"Yes." She managed to smile at Jack, glad that he was here with her. If the intel was right, she thought, they could end their search tonight. Maybe then she could finally tell him about Nadia.

"Okay. Let's go." He used wire cutters to break through the chain link fence, then the two of them slipped into the compound. Following the plan they'd agreed to earlier, they split up, Irina heading north, Jack south.

Light shone from one of the buildings and Irina made her way there first. Looking through the window, she saw four people sitting around a table. Three men and a woman. One of the men was former KGB – Vasily Karkadan. Katya had told her he was part of the Covenant. The other two men were unfamiliar, and the woman was wearing a head covering and had her back to Irina, making identification difficult.

These people killed Sydney, she thought, and her grip on her rifle tightened. She raised the weapon, peering at Karkadan through the scope.

There was the crack of a weapon being fired, and Irina felt the warmth of her own blood before she realized she was the one who'd been shot. The people inside sprang into action, diving for shelter as they reached for their own weapons.

Irina's rifle slipped from her grasp, and she turned to see who had shot her. A kid, younger than Sydney, his expression cold. He reminded her of Sark.

She fell to her knees, even as he raised his gun to fire again.

There was another shot; his head exploded, and his body crumpled to the ground.

Irina glanced in the direction the shot had come from. Jack was running towards her. He knelt next to her, and she was surprised to realize that at some point she had collapsed as well.

"Oh, God, Irina." He sounded worried.

"Go," she whispered, touching his cheek with bloody fingers, as if in benediction. "Find them."

He pressed his hands on her shoulder and pain overtook her. Her eyes fluttered closed; she welcomed the darkness. And thought, _I'm sorry, Sydney_.

She woke hours later, every nerve ending on her body feeling as if it was on fire. Jack held her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze when he saw she was conscious.

"Did you – get them?" Her mouth was dry, her tongue felt thick, and it was difficult to form the words.

Jack shook his head. "Sydney would never have forgiven me," he said slowly, "if I left her mother to die."

Hot tears burned Irina's cheeks as she realized what he'd sacrificed to save her. "They were there. Right there."

"Maybe it was them. Maybe not." He paused, breaking eye contact with her. "But you needed me."

"Jack—"

"Shh." He brushed strands of hair out of her face. "You need to rest."

"Where are we?"

"A safe house." He was still touching her face, his thumb absently skimming her cheek. "It wasn't safe to stay at the hospital too long."

"Was it bad?"

He didn't answer immediately, but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. Adopting a clinical tone, he said, "The bullet went straight through, fortunately missing anything vital. You lost a lot of blood, though."

"Didn't hear him." Irina was drowsy again. "Should have paid more attention."

"I should have had your back."

"You did. Not your fault." She wanted to say more, but it was too much effort, and she drifted to sleep again.

The next time she woke up, Jack was lying on the bed as well. She wondered how long he'd been asleep, and though she didn't want to wake him, she was in too much pain to wait.

"Jack."

He was instantly alert. "Yes?"

"Hurts."

He sat up, filling a syringe with a clear liquid from a bottle on the bedside table. Irina closed her eyes as he injected her, and waited for the drug to take effect.

"I'm tired," she said, and it was the truth. Tired of lies and betrayal and pain. She wanted to explain to Jack, to apologize, but it was already too hard to think clearly.

"I know." Jack kissed her forehead. "It's okay. Just rest."

"Love you," she managed to say, and as she lost consciousness, she thought she heard Jack say, "I love you, too."

Jack was gone the next time she woke up. A young girl sat next to the bed instead, dressed head to toe in white.

"Good morning," she said in Arabic. "I'm Aisha. Your nurse."

Irina just stared at her.

"Your husband had to leave. But he said he'd call you later." Aisha gestured to the cell phone on the bedside table. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

Aisha's expression was one of amusement. "Really. Let's change your dressing then."

Aisha was efficient and gentle enough that Irina didn't feel too much pain. She was also firm, despite her youth, and when Irina tried to sit up, calmly pushed her back down against the pillows.

"No. You're not going anywhere. Now, stay put, otherwise I'll just keep you drugged."

Irina frowned, but didn't argue. The effort of trying to sit had exhausted her, but she was too proud to admit it. "I see why Jack picked you," she said.

Aisha just smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_February, Stockholm_

Jack could think of a thousand other places he would rather be right now. Instead, because of previous dealings with the attaché to the ambassador, he'd been sent on the mission. He glanced around the embassy ballroom as he sipped his champagne; the attaché was nowhere to be seen. Stifling a sigh, he smiled at his companions and feigned interest in the conversation.

He was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked in warning, but he gave no outward reaction. He looked casually around the room again, his gaze caught by a woman on the opposite side of the dance floor.

She smiled, and Jack fought to restrain himself from immediately moving towards her. He excused himself from the conversation, and slowly made his way around the room, stopping once or twice to greet people.

She waited, holding two glasses of champagne. When he reached her, she handed one to him, then clinked the glasses together.

"You've taken quite a risk coming here," he said.

Irina's smile widened before she calmly sipped her champagne. "I'll take care of the cameras on my way out."

Jack studied her appreciatively; her black dress had one shoulder – covering her bullet wound, he realized – and clung to her curves like a second skin before flaring slightly at her hips. Her other shoulder was bare and before Jack knew what he was doing, he reached up to touch her, running his thumb along her collarbone.

"How are you?"

"Fine," she said. "Where'd you find Aisha?"

"The hospital. She was one of your nurses during surgery." He handed their glasses to a passing waiter, then led her to the dance floor. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

She shrugged lightly, then moved closer to him as he slid one arm around her waist. "I understand. But I'll get my revenge on you – Nurse Ratchet has nothing on Aisha."

"I knew she'd take none of your nonsense."

Her eyes twinkled. "She's working for me now. Next time something happens to you, I'll make sure she takes care of you."

He laughed, pulling her even closer. He contrasted the image of her now – alive and beautiful – with the woman bleeding in the Afghani desert, and again felt that same panic well up inside him.

"What's wrong?" Her eyes narrowed in concern.

"I'm just glad you're okay."

She smiled again, briefly, before her expression grew serious. "I've been hearing things."

"Oh?"

"Karkadan is tied to the Covenant, but my source isn't sure how deep his involvement is. I still don't know who the other three people were."

"We'll find them."

She nodded. Then, "Does anyone suspect you're working with me?"

"No."

"Jack—"

"I can watch my own back, thank you very much."

She ran her hand over his back. "And such a nice back it is."

He grinned.

"I miss you." She spoke softly, the words meant only for him to hear.

"I miss you, too."

"Jack, maybe –" She paused. "Maybe it would be safer if you—"

He waited, but she didn't finish her sentence. "If I what?"

She shook her head. "I'll break you out if you get caught."

"And if they caught you when you tried?"

She looked away.

"If they find out – which they won't – if they find out, promise me you'll continue on your own."

She said nothing, and they danced until the song ended. Then Irina brushed his lips with hers and whispered, "I promise."

She smiled, then slipped out of his arms.

Jack sighed and left the dance floor in the opposite direction. He spotted the attaché in conversation with the German ambassador, and went to speak to him. He glanced back once, but Irina was already gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_March, Buenos Aires_

Karkadan struggled against his restraints, but neither Jack nor Irina was sloppy enough to leave him room to escape. After eight hours of interrogation, he'd given them nothing, and if Irina wasn't so frustrated at their lack of progress, she would have been impressed that he hadn't broken.

"I'll ask you once more, Vasily Ivanovich, why did you kill my daughter?" She ran her fingers down the side of his face, almost a caress. On the other side of the room, Jack filled a syringe with a clear liquid.

"Didn't," Karkadan said.

"So tell us who did. We'll give you something for the pain." Irina nodded in Jack's direction, but kept her eyes on Karkadan's. "We were comrades once, Vasily Ivanovich. Remember?"

He spat at her. "I'm not a traitor."

Irina said nothing, but calmly wiped the spit from her face. It was Jack who took offense; he backhanded Karkadan across the cheek. Then he held up the syringe.

"It's too bad you don't want this. What a waste." He tossed the morphine to one side, then closed his hand over Karkadan's broken wrist. "I'll ask you one more time. If you didn't kill my daughter, who did?"

There was a crazed look in Karkadan's eyes; that of a man who knew he was going to die and had nothing to lose. He started laughing. "You did."

Irina picked up her gun and shot Karkadan in the head. The room fell silent.

"I'll get my people to take care of this." She turned to leave.

Jack caught up with her before she reached the door leading out of the warehouse. "Irina, wait."

"This was a waste of time."

"We need to talk."

She hugged her arms to her chest, chilled in spite of the heat. She needed to get away, to be by herself for a while. The last thing she needed was to have to make conversation now.

"Later. I'll call you." She turned again.

Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her. She wasn't expecting it, and crashed into him. His arms went instantly around her waist, either to steady her or to keep her in place; she wasn't sure.

"You just killed a man," Jack said.

"I know." She glared up at him. "But in case it escaped your attention, you were as much a part of his interrogation as—"

"Let me finish."

"—as I was, so don't think you can play the morality card here, Jonathon—"

He pinned her against the wall and silenced her with a hand over her mouth. "As I was saying."

She narrowed her eyes, but didn't fight him.

"At some point during this whole thing, I realized something."

She tilted her head slightly.

"You're not unaffected by this. It gets to you. You do it because you have to, not because you want to."

Irina broke eye contact with him; he only realized that _now_, she thought. After all these months . . .

"And I also realized that we're the same, you and me. Twenty years ago, there were things I could never tell you, parts of myself that I couldn't share. Now – we're two sides of the same coin, Irina."

He removed his hand from her mouth, but she was too stunned to speak. Jack's openness was a surprise, something she never knew how to respond to. "What – What are you trying to say?"

"I think—" He took a deep breath. "I don't want to love you. I've tried to cut you out of my heart so many times, and every time I think I've succeeded . . . something happens and I realize I haven't. And now I know why I can't."

"Jack—"

"I used to think – if Laura ever knew the real me, she'd leave, that she couldn't possibly love someone like that." He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Laura could never have understood this life."

"I always understood, Jack."

"I know that now." He sighed. "I used to wonder – after Laura died – I wondered what my life would have been like if I'd never met you. But then we never would have had Sydney, and I can't regret Sydney. And if I can't regret Sydney, then I can't regret you, no matter how fucked up and painful our lives are."

Irina's hands trembled as she reached up to cup Jack's face.

"Tell me the truth: was it ever real for you?"

"It was always real for me. I just refused to believe it." She smiled. "You were right, you know. I should have trusted you with the truth back then."

He pulled her into a hug. "It figures that we'd have this conversation in this situation."

"Come on. Let's get out of here."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_April, Los Angeles_

Jack entered his house and slowly climbed the stairs. When he'd left Irina three weeks ago, she'd told him she was tired, and he understood exactly what she meant because he felt tired too. It was not just physical exhaustion, but the mental and emotional toll searching for Sydney's killers had taken.

"What if we should just let it go?" Irina had asked, curled against him in bed. But both of them knew that was impossible – neither knew how to let go. They would keep looking, even if it killed them in the process.

He stopped outside Sydney's bedroom and pushed the door open. When Sydney first left home, Jack had not set foot in the room again, but during the last eleven months, he found himself drawn to it time and again. Posters from Sydney's teenage years still adorned the walls; there were a couple of trophies on top of the bookshelf, and a sad-looking stuffed elephant sat on the bed. Sydney had taken all her books and photographs with her when she left, and now all of that had been destroyed in the fire that claimed her life.

Jack shut the door, and continued on to his study. Once there, he inserted a disc into his laptop and began reviewing the latest surveillance on Andrian Lazarey.

Months ago, he'd mentioned the possibility of leaving the CIA, but he hadn't meant it at the time. Now, it was something he'd been giving considerably more thought to. Working with Irina had been enlightening, and it he was honest with himself, he'd admit that he enjoyed their collaboration – he felt more alive this last year than in the twenty years preceding it.

If he left the CIA, he would be free to pursue Sydney's killers without being distracted by other CIA assignments, such as the current investigation of Lazarey.

Still, he thought, watching the man on the screen, his ties with the Agency gave him access to information and contacts that Irina didn't have. He didn't doubt that one day he would have to make the choice to leave, but for now, he decided, it was prudent to stay.

And then he watched a blonde woman enter Lazarey's office and slit his throat.

He couldn't think, could do nothing except stare at the woman wearing his daughter's face.

By the time he could finally move again, the scene was finished. Jack replayed it, then paused as the woman's face turned to the camera.

_Sydney_.

He couldn't look away. His daughter was alive; somehow, somewhere, she was alive!

Tears blurred his vision and he reached up, tentatively tracing the outline of Sydney's face even as he knew this could be a set up, or a double, or a woman in a mask.

But he wanted so badly to believe.

He reached for his cell phone and dialed a number that had been reserved for emergencies. Irina answered in under ten seconds.

"What's wrong?"

"I need to see you. As soon as possible."

There was a brief pause. "Is everything okay?"

"I have some new information." He touched the screen once more. "I can come to you."

Another pause. "I'm at home."

"Okay. I'll see you in a couple of days." Jack pressed a button to end the call, then reached into his drawer for a blank disc. He made a copy of the file and stored it in his safe, then shut down the laptop and began preparing for the trip to Vladivostok.

He could have hinted at the information, he thought, but he wanted to tell Irina face to face.

He would be with her in three days. The news could wait three days.

* * *

_Vladivostok  
__Four days later_

"Yes, I understand. Thank you." Irina didn't bother pressing disconnect, but threw the phone across the room, taking little satisfaction as it hit the wall and shattered. She sank onto the couch and buried her face in her hands.

When Jack hadn't arrived as expected, she'd contacted an associate in Los Angeles, who had just informed her that he'd been apprehended trying to leave the country and was currently in NSA custody.

Irina couldn't sit still; she needed to work through the sudden anger-induced adrenalin. Quickly crossing the room, she opened a cupboard and selected an array of knives, then left the house for some target practice.

_Dammit!_ She'd warned Jack, and he'd told her not to worry, that he was being careful and no one suspected he was working with her. And now he was in custody.

He'd been about to come to her, to share something important. What was so important that he needed to tell her in person? Had he found out who Karkadan's associates were? Maybe he already had a plan to go after them and—

Irina retrieved the knives from the target, and told herself Jack's reasons for coming didn't matter. What mattered was that he had been arrested and needed her help.

And then she recalled a promise she'd made, only a few months before. He'd told her if anything happened to him that she was to continue alone. Even as she'd promised him she would, she knew she'd regret it. Now, she wanted nothing more than to get her husband out of custody, but she was done breaking promises to him.

She looked down at the knife in her hand, and silently made another promise. The second she knew who was responsible for Sydney's murder, she would help Jack. After that, she would tell him about Nadia.

Once again, Irina collected the knives she'd thrown and returned to the house. She took a new cell phone from a cabinet in the study and dialed a familiar number.

"Katya? It's me. Something's happened. I need your help."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

_**Los Angeles, Day 17**_

_For the first month of his incarceration, Jack has no contact with anyone except the guard who brings and collects his food tray. Even then, there is no conversation, only the gruff, "Bristow!" to announce mealtimes._

_Jack understands what they are doing. He is no newcomer to psychological warfare; if they succeed in making him feel isolated and disconnected, if they can convince him that Irina will betray him again, then he will be willing to offer her up sooner rather than later._

_Of course, he is well aware that they have no hard evidence he'd been working with Irina, only an anonymous tip-off and supposition. He has no intention of confirming any rumours._

_He believes in Irina, believes she'll keep looking and that she'll find out Sydney's still alive. He has to believe that._

_He can't give her up; she's Sydney's only hope._

_And there's some part of him that realizes – and even accepts – that it's not only for Sydney's sake he refuses to betray Irina._

_He doesn't want to see her locked up again._

* * *

_May, Vladivostok_

The heavy table in Irina's kitchen had been made by her grandfather, and Irina's childhood had been spent in her Babushka's kitchen as she and her sisters learned how to cook. There were other memories associated with the table too: conversations with Mama, getting drunk with Katya and Elena on more than one occasion. It was at this table that Irina had informed her parents she was to be sent on a long-term assignment all those years ago, and at this same table that she sat silently, her hands folded together in front of her, as she gave vague explanations for her time in Kashmir. When her grandmother died, Irina had moved the table here, to the home she'd set up as her sanctuary.

Now, the table was covered with papers, a map, photographs of Irina's daughters. Katya sat on one side, her attention focused on the laptop in front of her. Irina sat opposite her, scratching notes on a sheet of paper as she spoke on her cell phone.

Katya's phone rang, and she reached for it without looking away from the laptop. Irina finished her own conversation and reached for the map, carefully sliding it out from under the other items on the desk. She marked the co-ordinates she'd jotted down then sighed in frustration. They'd just returned from Seoul; this information was useless.

Katya dropped the phone onto the table. When Irina looked up, Katya was shaking her head, a disbelieving smile twisting her lips.

"What is it?"

Katya said nothing until she had connected to the Internet. Then she swiveled the laptop around so that the screen was facing Irina.

"Is this for real?" Irina asked.

"It appears so."

Irina skimmed through the article, clicked back to the search engine, clicked on another article. After six articles, she stood and began to pace. Katya watched her warily.

"Sloane's after something. I don't buy this – this turnaround."

Katya walked over to the sink and selected two glasses. Then she fetched a bottle of vodka from the cabinet and poured a healthy amount in each glass. "Maybe he's changed."

"People like Arvin don't change. He's up to something." Irina emptied her glass, then handed it back to Katya for a refill. "I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"Undoubtedly." Katya filled up Irina's glass.

"I still don't believe he's completely innocent of Sydney's death."

Katya was silent, and looked at Irina for a long time. She topped up her own glass. "What if Sydney's not dead? What if they only want you to think that?"

"No." Irina's denial was immediate. "If that's true then this last year – it would have been a waste."

"Ira—"

"If she was alive, she'd have found a way to get back to her father, or, or—"

"Or they broke her." Katya's tone was gentle.

"She's dead."

"Then maybe you should let her go."

"And let Jack rot in prison for nothing?" Even as she said it, there was a voice in her mind that whispered _Let her go, free Jack, move on._

"And in the mean time Elena's running around doing who knows what." Katya slammed her glass down on the table; it cracked, and blood and vodka spilled across Rambaldi documents and leads and the precious photographs. Katya didn't seem to notice. "And we are no closer to finding Nadia than we were twenty years ago."

Irina wrapped Katya's hand in a dishtowel, her own hands trembling as she did so. She stepped away from her sister, her gaze falling on the table; this table should have seen a new generation of Derevko sisters learning and sharing secrets around it. And Irina knew with a painful certainty that there would be no new Derevko women around the table.

"Irina." Katya's voice cut into her thoughts, but she was too distracted to hear the note of worry.

"Maybe there's nothing to find." Irina's smile was weak, her eyes unfocused. "Maybe Rambaldi was wrong and Sydney wasn't the Chosen One. Maybe Nadia died years ago and that's why we can't find her."

Irina sat down and began looking through the notes again. "But I have to keep looking. This is all I have now."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

_**Los Angeles, Day59**_

_He sits, hands shackled to the arms of the chair, dressed in prison grays, his face a blank mask. His colleagues on the other side of the table ask question after question and still he's silent. He's been through this before, been on both sides of the table, and he knows better than to give them what they want. Especially now, when the stakes are so high._

_"Dammit, Bristow. She's not worth it." Kendall, perspiration shining on his bald head. _

_"We know you're working with Derevko." Lindsay. Sneering. Jack doesn't even acknowledge him._

_The men stare at him, waiting for him to talk, waiting for him to break._

_The last time he was in solitary, he had nothing to hold onto, no hope whatsoever. This time it's different. Sydney's alive, Irina will find out soon enough; this knowledge will sustain him for as long as he's in here._

_He wonders how long it will take before Irina breaks her promise not to come for him._

_Lindsay slams his hand on the table. "Tell me, Agent Bristow, how you're possibly benefiting from this? Your daughter's dead, you're in prison, and the woman who destroyed your life is free as a bird."_

_Jack finally glances at Lindsay, but still doesn't speak. Plotting the many different ways he'd like to kill Lindsay is going to help him pass the time over the next few days. The thought brings a slight smile to his face._

_"Take him back to his cell," Lindsay barks to the guards, his face almost red. "Maybe he needs some more time to think."_

_Kendall sighs and shakes his head. "Stubborn son of a bitch."_

* * *

_June, Zurich_

Irina had Arvin Sloane followed for a week before she decided to make contact. She knew exactly how many guards he traveled with, and doubled her own. Not that she expected him to try anything, but it never hurt to take extra precautions.

She thought again of his supposed turnaround, and again felt that there was more to this than was known. Not for the first time, she wondered if he'd had anything to do with Jack's arrest. Though they'd taken care to hide their collaboration, somehow Sloane had ways of discovering things which were better left secret.

If he was involved, Irina thought, it was just another reason to kill him. She should have killed him long before now; his sins against her family were already far too many.

He was at a table by himself, dressed in one of the white suits he seemed to favour.

"Hello, Arvin." Irina sat down at his table, and waved away the approaching waiter.

Sloane looked completely unsurprised to see her. "Irina."

"I've heard some stories going around." Irina looked relaxed, but there was a dangerous glint in her eye and her tone was hard. "There's this sociopath – some people would call him a monster – and all of a sudden he's become the darling of the international community."

Sloane said nothing, though his lips quirked slightly as if he was trying not to smile.

Irina leaned forward. "I don't know what you're up to, Arvin. I don't know how you've convinced the world you're a good person – quite frankly, I don't care. But if I find out that you're the one behind Sydney's murder, I'm going to enjoy making you suffer before I kill you."

Sloane sipped his wine.

"On second thoughts," Irina continued, "I think I'll enjoy torturing you anyway, just for the hell of it."

"I've missed you, Irina." Sloane smiled affectionately. "Really, I have."

"I'm sure." She was about to stand up when Sloane spoke again.

"You still need me."

"Like I need a hole in the head."

"I've forgiven you for your betrayal of me. We can work together again." He motioned for the waiter and ordered a glass brought for Irina. "Think of all we could accomplish; together we can realize Rambaldi's vision."

"I thought you'd left Rambaldi behind."

He smiled in a manner that hinted of a shared secret. "You know as well as I do that's impossible."

"Go to hell."

The waiter brought a glass and set it down in front of Irina. When he'd left, Sloane filled it with red wine and nodded for her to drink it. She didn't even look at it.

"Do you know what Il Dire told me, Irina? 'Peace'. One word." His gaze left her feeling uncomfortable. "You can't escape your destiny."

"Peace? I'm sure that came as a disappointment to you."

He said nothing, but simply smiled that all-knowing smile. Irina's knife was a comforting weight against her thigh, and she resisted the urge to pull it out and stab him.

"I wonder how Jack's doing these days. The first time he was in solitary, it nearly killed him." He leaned back in his chair. "Interesting, isn't it? You were responsible for it last time, too."

Irina stood before she gave into the temptation to shed blood. "The next time we meet, Arvin, will be when I kill you."

She left, not bothering to glance back. She didn't need to; she could feel him watching her as she threaded through the tables and exited the restaurant.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

_**Los Angeles, Day 80**_

_Days become weeks, become months, and Jack's not sure just how much time has passed. Some nights he wakes in a cold sweat, certain that something's gone wrong and Irina's been killed and Sydney is lost forever._

_Some nights he wakes up terrified that it's all been a lie and Irina's left him here to rot, that she doesn't care about vengeance for Sydney, that she never loved him, them._

_But most nights, he sits on his narrow cot and thinks of stolen moments with the woman he cannot cut from his heart. To betray her now would be to betray himself. Sometimes, when the loneliness is too much to bear, he closes his eyes and conjures an image of her. Sometimes he feels her there with him, her hand on his leg, her breath tickling his neck, but when he opens his eyes, she's gone._

_He wonders if he's losing his mind, wonders if he's already lost it, and the doubt returns, only to be quashed by the memory of a fireplace in winter and kisses so desperate he felt he was drowning._

_He remembers her smile first thing in the morning, her lazy laughter as they shared a joke in the evening, a moment on a train when her face lit up with joy and he realized for the first time that not everything with her was a lie._

_He thinks of Sydney too. She has always been something real between them, something pure and perfect, and he hopes he'll get the chance to tell her that._

_He thinks of the blonde woman cold-bloodedly slitting a man's throat, and his heart aches for his child._

* * *

_July, Rome_

Irina hurriedly crossed the piazza, late for her meeting with Katya. Her gaze swept the café's in front of her, always suspicious, especially these days. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and she continued walking.

Something niggled at her mind, and she glanced back over her shoulder, searching for what had struck her.

There was a blonde woman sitting at one of the outdoor tables, her posture slightly too stiff to be completely relaxed. She was in side profile to Irina, and while Irina watched, the blonde casually reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

Irina stopped walking. She watched as the woman motioned for a waiter, then left the café. Irina followed at a distance as the woman left the piazza, not willing to take her eyes off the blonde for a second in case she lost her.

There was a slight vibration against her hip; she reached for her cell phone and answered with a distracted, "Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?"

Katya. The meeting had slipped her mind the instant she'd seen the woman. "I can't talk now."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes. I'll call you later." She hung up, and followed the blonde into a large building. Once she saw the apartment the woman entered, Irina left the building and found a spot to sit from which she could observe the entrance to the building.

An hour later, the woman left again. Irina waited a few minutes before re-entering the building and breaking into the apartment. She moved through the rooms cautiously, her gun drawn in case she ran into trouble.

A stone angel looked down at her through a glass skylight, and Irina suddenly thought of Jack. She was filled with a sharp longing, but pushed it aside and returned her focus the matter at hand.

She sat down on one of the chairs and waited.

It was dark when she heard the sound of a key scraping in the lock. Irina quickly moved to where she wouldn't be instantly seen, and stood ready to attack.

The moment the blonde closed the door behind her, Irina struck. She pushed the blonde against the door, one hand closed around her throat, the other holding a gun against the woman's temple.

"Who are you?" Irina hissed.

The blonde blinked in confusion for a moment, then smiled. "Mom?"

Irina tightened her hold on the blonde's throat. "Who. Are. You?"

"Mom, it's me. It's Sydney."

"Sydney's dead." It never got easier to say, and now, looking at the woman who wore her daughter's face, Irina so badly wanted to believe it wasn't true.

"No, Mom, please. Listen—"

"I know what Project Helix can do. Tell me who you really are!"

"It's me, Mom! I can explain—" There was a trace of desperation in her voice.

"Who are you working for?"

"Mommy—"

"Stop saying that!" Irina brought the butt of the gun down on the blonde's head. Then she took advantage of the woman's stunned state to drag her over to a chair and tie her up.

"When we were in Kashmir, I got shot," the woman said, "and you and Dad argued about my injury, and you found these berries."

Irina stepped backwards slowly, her head shaking in denial.

"The last time I saw you, you told me you loved me and jumped off a building."

"She could have told anyone that."

"Mom—"

Irina hit her again. "I told you to stop saying that!"

"The Covenant took me and they tried to make me believe I was someone else but it didn't work, and I tried to go back – I tried – but Vaughn's married, and Kendall said – he said I should go back to the Covenant but I'm tired of being a double agent – I'm so tired – so if you're going to kill me then just go ahead and do it already." She raised her chin defiantly, but couldn't hide the pain and bitterness in her eyes. "It's not like you've got any issues with shooting members of your family."

Irina stared at her, the arm holding the gun slowly falling to her side. She sank into a chair opposite the woman – was it really Sydney? Was her baby still alive? – and studied her for a long time.

"I don't know if I believe you," she eventually said, "but I'm willing to hear you out."

The woman – Sydney – smiled, and Irina felt hope stir in her heart.

Sydney started talking.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

_**Los Angeles, Day 117**_

_"Why are you protecting her?" Lindsay asks._

_Jack tiredly rubs his hand over his eyes. They've been in this room for hours and Lindsay cannot get past that one question._

_Decades earlier, he'd repeatedly been asked another question: how could you not have known, how could you not have suspected?_

_His answer had been, "I loved her."_

_The answer now is the same. It is that simple, and that complicated. Jack has had a lot of time to think – he's done so much thinking that he fears he's gone mad – but how can he expect someone like Lindsay to understand?_

_He loves her._

_And this time, he knows the answer to the question he'd asked himself, twenty years ago: she loves him too._

_"I hope you rot here," Lindsay hisses. _

_Jack merely raises an eyebrow._

_"She's not going to come for you, you know." Lindsay leans back in his chair. _

_Jack knows; she would have acted by now. It's strange to think of Irina actually keeping a promise to him, but there's still a small part of him that wonders why she had to pick now to start doing so._

_"Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll get herself killed."_

_If it wasn't for the armed guard standing in the corner, Jack would reach across the table and throttle Lindsay for suggesting such a thing._

* * *

_August, Barcelona_

Irina absently sipped her wine as she watched the flamenco dancers. She recalled owning a similar dress once, and remembering Jack's reaction to seeing her in that dress brought a smile to her face.

"Why haven't you tried to get Dad out of solitary?" Sydney sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"Hello, Sydney."

"Mom."

Irina sighed. "Because he made me promise not to."

"I don't think you have any idea what it did to him the first time."

"Don't go there, Sydney." Irina filled her glass with more wine.

"You can get him out." She sounded like a six-year-old again. "Don't pretend you can't."

"He made me promise I'd focus on finding your killers. I couldn't do that if I was caught too."

"Well, I'm not dead."

"No, but you need my help with the Covenant." When Irina had left Rome, she'd cried for what her child had gone through, and vowed to herself that the people responsible for this would be made to pay.

Sydney looked down, then reached for the bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.

"If you could get Kendall to agree to – you could always exchange me for your father. That's what they want, after all."

"No!" Sydney shook her head. "That's not acceptable either."

Irina smiled and reached across the table to take Sydney's hand. "I'll see what I can do. I don't want him in prison either."

Sydney looked at Irina, a strange expression on her face. "So, last time, you said you and Dad were working together."

Irina nodded.

"I don't understand. Why would he want to?" Her eyes widened, and she hurriedly continued, "I mean, it's just, well, you didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

"Sydney, your father and I—" Irina sighed. "It's complicated."

"Mom."

"We thought you were dead, Sydney." Irina had to look away; the pain of thinking Sydney dead was still too easy to remember. "Compared to that loss, nothing else mattered."

Sydney was quiet for a long time. Then she asked, "Mom, did you ever love him? Or was it all pretend?"

Irina smiled. "I wasn't supposed to love him. Half the time I was convinced I didn't. And I found that the easiest person to lie to has always been myself."

"That's not a very straightforward answer."

"Nothing in life is straightforward, sweetheart."

Something undefinable flashed across Sydney's face.

"Sweetheart?"

"Dad calls me that."

"When you were born," Irina said slowly, "your father turned to me and said, 'Now I have two sweethearts'. And from then you were sweetheart to both of us."

Irina watched Sydney struggle to get her emotions back under control, and realized just how similar the two of them were. She didn't think Sydney would appreciate her pointing that out, so she said nothing.

"There's some kind of inner trouble with the Covenant at the moment," Sydney said eventually. "One of the key members – Karkadan – was tortured and killed a few months ago, and since then there have been a handful of people fighting to take his place."

Irina had heard as much from Katya.

"But rumour has it that the remaining three leaders are perfectly happy to function as a triumvirate." Sydney shrugged. "I've tried to find out who these three people are, but no luck so far."

Katya had had no luck either. "What have they had you doing?"

Sydney grimaced. "There's this guy they've got me working with. It's – he—"

"Has he hurt you?"

"No, Mom." Sydney rolled her eyes. "It's just – I've flirted with men I don't like, but now I'm supposed to—"

"You're supposed to sleep with him," Irina said when Sydney didn't finish her sentence.

"Yeah." She looked away, her cheeks flushed. "I – How did you do it, Mom?"

Irina didn't know how to answer her.

"Never mind," Sydney said. "The good news is that I've got a lot more freedom than before, so I'll have time to figure out this whole Rambaldi puzzle."

"Just be careful, sweetheart."

Sydney smiled, and all traces of the vulnerable girl were gone. Irina felt like she was looking into a mirror, and her heart broke all over again.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

_**Los Angeles, Day 146**_

_Jack is used to the routine: breakfast, time in his cell, lunch, time in his cell, dinner, time in his cell, sleep. Twice a week he is allowed to exercise in the prison yard; of course, it is always when the other prisoners are somewhere else. The only human contact Jack has are with his guards, none of whom are at all interested in talking to him, and with Lindsay, who asks questions Jack has no intention of answering._

_So he talks to Irina instead, in his head. He talks to Sydney too, in the way he hasn't spoken to her in years. He tells her what a beautiful baby she was and how proud he is. He tells her he's sorry he was such a lousy father and he promises he'll make it up to her._

_And he tells Irina he's not going to let her go again._

_The disruption in his routine leaves him feeling slightly unsettled. Instead of being taken out for exercise time in the yard, he's been left in his cell._

_"Don't worry," he hears Irina say. "It's nothing."_

_"It's probably Lindsay," he says, "messing with my head."_

_So he sits on his bed, adding to the list of ways he'd like to kill Lindsay. He's at two hundred and ninety so far._

* * *

_September, Los Angeles_

Irina, keeping her word to Jack, did not attempt to rescue him herself.

She sent one of her most trusted men to do it instead. Piotr Valenko had been with her for years, sometimes acting as her bodyguard, sometimes standing quietly but menacingly in the background while Irina 'negotiated' with someone, and occasionally he had kept an eye on Jack or Sydney when their paths unknowingly crossed her associates'.

He was also her friend; a relationship that went back to before they were in the Academy together, to two young children who played together in the snow and imagined lives very different to the ones they ended up leading. Piotr had taken a bullet for her once, and almost died.

When Irina asked Piotr to help her free Jack, he'd given her a look that was indecipherable, sighed, then said yes.

"What?" she had asked.

"I hope he's worth it."

Now, Irina sat in an abandoned warehouse not far from where Jack was being held. She hated waiting, hated not being part of the action, especially when Jack or Sydney were involved.

She and Piotr had planned things out in the minutest detail; Irina's source inside the prison had been most helpful in providing information. If everything went according to the plan, Piotr would return here with Jack in two hours, and they would head for the Mexican border.

In Irina's experience, things rarely went according to plan, and this was the reason she was pacing irritably across the floor, casting frustrated glances to where her cell phone lay silent on a table.

There was the sound of an engine outside. Irina reached for her gun, automatically flicking it off safety as she moved to a position that would conceal her from whoever entered.

The door at the far end opened, letting a block of sunlight spill into the room. Sydney stepped into the light, called, "Mom?" and Irina felt herself relax slightly.

"Over here."

Sydney crossed the room, moving her sunglasses up onto her head, then hugged her mother. Irina was slightly surprised by the gesture – since she had come back into Sydney's life, the number of times they'd hugged could be counted on one hand. Taking advantage of this stolen moment, Irina held her close for a long time.

"Any news yet?" Sydney asked.

"It's too soon." Irina looked at her watch again, though it really wasn't necessary.

Sydney removed her jacket and sat cross-legged on the table. Irina studied her for a moment; Sydney was always beautiful, though Irina didn't think she'd ever get used to seeing her blonde. She frowned.

"Are you eating enough?"

"What?"

"You're too thin."

Sydney rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious, Sydney. You need to take better care of yourself."

Sydney gave a half-smile. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Hello, Pot. I'm Kettle."

Irina shook her head, smiling despite her concern for Piotr and Jack. "I didn't expect to see you today."

"I thought –" Sydney ducked her head, suddenly unsure. "Maybe Dad would want to see me."

"Of course he will." Irina sat on the table next to Sydney. "Sweetheart, I know your relationship with your father is – less than ideal, but he loves you. More than anything."

"I know." Sydney smiled again. "So. What are your plans once Dad gets here?"

"Well, after he yells at me for taking such a risk, we'll leave the country."

Sydney's smile turned sly. "Together?"

"If that's what he wants." Sliding off the table, Irina looked at her watch again, then picked up her cell phone as if she could make it ring just by the force of her will.

"Is that what you want, Mom?"

"I—" The phone rang, and whatever Irina was going to say was lost as she answered. "Da?"

"Caught – Piotr dead – get out of there!" It was Ivan, another of her men; one Piotr had requested to help him on this mission. Irina felt herself grow cold as she listened to the rest of his explanation. They had been expected and had walked into a trap.

And now Piotr was dead.

The phone slipped from her grasp and shattered as it hit the floor.

"Mom? Mom, what happened?" Sydney was at her side in an instant.

Piotr. She was to blame, she'd sent him in.

And Jack, Jack was still in prison.

"Mom?"

"It didn't work. We need to leave."

"Mom what's going on?"

Irina shook her head.

"It's okay, Mom. We'll think of something else."

Irina managed to keep control as she drove away from the warehouse and eventually crossed the border hours earlier than she'd planned to, alone, and as she drove to the safe house she'd set up. She kept her emotions in check long enough to make it into the shower, then she could feign strength no longer. She slid to the floor and wept for Piotr and a lifelong friendship she'd taken for granted.

And she wept for Jack and Sydney, and the ruins of their lives.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

_**Los Angeles, Day168**_

_Jack wonders if Irina's figured out that Sydney's alive yet. He hopes so; he can't bear to think of Irina still in mourning. _

_And suddenly he remembers a night in the Afghan desert, the desperation he'd felt when he'd carried her bleeding, broken body to the jeep. He finds himself hoping she's being careful, hoping she's still alive._

_He wonders then if Sydney's still alive. Anything could have happened in the time that he's been here. _

_What if they're both dead and he's stuck here believing in nothing?_

_No, no, no. He refuses to accept that. He will not – cannot – consider the idea._

_As long as they're alive, there is hope._

_He's already lost both of them once before; Irina to an icy river, Sydney to a fire. He knows he will not survive losing them again._

* * *

_October, Prague_

Irina tucked the rolled up manuscript into her bag, then casually strolled out the library, just another scholar going home after a day's research. She pulled on a pair of gloves as she went down the steps of the building, shivering as a gust of autumn wind blew past her, chilling her to the bone.

"Well, this is a nice surprise." Arvin Sloane was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, smiling in that infuriating way that made her want to shoot something.

She slowed her steps. "Arvin."

"Your sister gave me some interesting news the other day."

Irina said nothing, though the sharp pain of betrayal cut through her. _Katya_.

"It's surprising, really. I would have thought we would have run into each other long before now, given that we have so much in common."

"Did you want to die today, Arvin? I made a promise the last time I saw you."

"Elena told me about Nadia."

Elena, not Katya. Irina felt relief, then concern. Elena and Sloane working together was not a good thing. Feigning indifference, even as her mind raced to find a way to use this information to her advantage, she said, "Who?"

"Come now, Irina."

"I don't have time for this, Arvin."

His expression was oddly gently, and left her feeling very unsettled. "We have a child together."

"You should know better than to believe anything a Derevko tells you. Especially _that_ Derevko."

Sloane gestured to the car parked behind him. "Take a ride with me, Irina."

"Not today." She would have started walking away, but she knew better than to turn her back on him.

"I can help you find her." His tone was sincere. "Omnifam has resources—"

"There is no child."

"Elena told me everything."

Irina looked at him for a moment. He believed what he was saying; he believed Nadia was his. "And tell me, where is my sister?"

"I don't know."

"Of course." She removed the gun from its holster at the small of her back – the twin of the gun she'd given Jack – and thumbed the safety off. "It's been fun, Arvin, but if you don't leave now, I will shoot you."

Sloane raised his hands, palms up in a conciliatory gesture. "Think about my offer, Irina. We worked together once before."

"And look how well that turned out."

Sloane's smile never faltered. He turned and walked to the car. Irina watched as he got in, then drove away. When he was out of sight, she allowed herself to relax slightly.

_"Have you lost your mind?" Irina stares at her sister across the hotel room._

_"I think I should be asking you that question."_

_"If Jack finds out, then my cover is blown. Loving wives do not have affairs with their husband's best friends!"_

_Elena's eyes narrow. "There's been concern that you're taking your role a little too seriously."_

_"Is that the reason you want me to do this?"_

_"You know about the prophecies."_

_"This is madness—"_

_"These are your orders! You will seduce Arvin Sloane; you will have his child." Elena smiles coldly. "One way or another, this child will be born. If you like your life here, you'll continue to do as you're told."_

_Irina folds her arms across her stomach, but nods. Elena never has to know she's already pregnant. "Are these orders from Moscow, or are they from you?"_

_"We'll need proof."_

_"Other than a baby?"_

_"Arvin Sloane has access to information Jack Bristow does not. We want that information."_

_Irina nods again, then picks up her bag and leaves. It's the last time she sees her sister until Kashmir._

If Elena was in contact with Sloane now, it meant she was running out of patience.

And Irina was running out of time.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

_**Los Angeles, Day 210**_

_"You know, Bristow," Lindsay says, oozing condescension and fake sympathy, "I feel for you. really, I do. I don't have children, but I can imagine what losing your only daughter can do to a man. I can even almost understand why you'd feel driven to working with Irina Derevko."_

_Jack's gaze is focused on Lindsay's watch; he follows the second hand tick around, marking the passage of time until this interview can end._

_Then he notices that the watch shows the date as well as the time._

_He's been here almost seven months, he realizes with horror._

_Seven months._

_Despair fills him; it's as if all the air has been sucked from the room and suddenly Jack can't breathe. He looks around blindly, seeing nothing except blackness. There's a buzzing noise in his ears and his heart is pounding so fast, too fast._

_Don't panic, he thinks; don't panic._

_But—_

_Seven months—_

_Irina'sdeadSydney'sdeadI'mdying—_

_And then Irina says, "Jack, it's okay. Breathe, just breathe."_

_He wakes up in the infirmary and overhears Lindsay and the doctor talking._

_"It's not unusual for something like this to happen," the doctor is saying. "He's been in solitary for a very long time."_

_"He'll live?" There is no trace of concern in Lindsay's voice._

_"Of course he will." A pause. "I'm more concerned about his mental health right now. Maybe it would be better if he was transferred to the general sec—"_

_"Are you a psychiatrist too, Doctor?" Lindsay's tone is mocking._

_"No, but—"_

_"Then Bristow goes back to solitary."_

* * *

_November, outside Tehran_

Irina hated the desert; she could no longer think of it without remembering the ill-fated mission with Jack when she had been shot. But Sydney's hastily-encoded email left Irina with no choice – Sydney needed her help, and there was nothing Irina wouldn't do for her daughter.

Irina peered out from her hiding place, her senses on full alert. Ahead of her was a small encampment: three tents in a semi-circle, camels kneeling on the ground, a woman wearing a burqa tending to a fire. The flap of the middle tent opened, and Irina tensed as Gerard Cuvee stepped out into the sunlight.

He glanced up at the hill on the opposite side of the camp; Irina followed his gaze, then realized that there was a cave she hadn't noticed earlier. The woman offered Cuvee a canteen; he took it, then began walking to the cave.

Irina waited a while longer, but there was no movement from any of the other tents. She adjusted her headscarf to hide her face, then slowly snuck down to the camp, keeping her gun ready in case she ran into trouble.

The woman whirled around as Irina stepped out from behind one of the tents, holding a knife ready to throw. Then she lowered her arm and whispered, "Mom?"

Irina lifted the flap of the tent and gestured inside. Sydney entered first, removing the burqa once they were in the tent.

"What's going on?"

"There's supposed to be a Rambaldi artifact in the cave. Kendall wants me to get it to the CIA; the Covenant wants me to get it for them."

"And Cuvee's Covenant now?"

Sydney nodded. "Except he wants this artifact for himself."

"Of course." Irina sighed. "How did you find that out?"

"I might as well be invisible in this thing." Sydney ran her hands over the burqa. "Cuvee thinks I'm a local woman; they've been talking in Russian all the time."

"Who else is here?"

"There's a woman; I don't know who she is. She was only here for a day. Then there's another man; Cuvee calls him Pasha."

"I know who he is." Pavel Antipov. Another of her comrades. He'd been a friend once, before Kashmir. She shook her head, her thoughts returning to the present.

"Mom, this artifact – it's supposed to be a weapon of some kind."

Irina nodded, then reached for the bag she'd brought with her. "So we destroy the cave and everything in it."

"But – I thought—" Sydney trailed off, her face a mask of confusion.

"You thought I'd want it for myself?" She didn't wait for Sydney's response before continuing. "Even if that were the case, would you have let me have it?"

Sydney looked away.

"Well, then, I'll sneak into the cave and set the explosives tonight." She stood. "After this – this is the last time we can meet, Sydney. I need to go into hiding for a while."

"And what about Dad?" Sydney also stood, her posture challenging. "Kendall says he's doing okay, but that he still refuses to co-operate. He's still in solitary."

"Sydney—"

"Have you given up on him? Is that it?"

"Never. If you want him out then make the exchange. Me for him. Call Kendall right now, and I'll take his place."

Sydney broke eye contact. "I told you I can't do that."

Irina hesitated a moment, then put her arms around Sydney and gave her a gentle hug. "I'll let you know when it's safe to meet again. I love you, sweetheart. Be careful."

With that she slipped out of the tent, and returned to her previous hiding place. Later, she looked at the camp again and saw Sydney, once again wearing the burqa, stirring something in a pot over the fire.

Cuvee and Antipov came down the hill just as the sun started to set. Irina waited until she had the cover of nightfall before circling the camp in a wide arc to reach the cave. Torches burned along one wall of the tunnel, lighting her way. She went in as far as the men had excavated, surprised that Cuvee and Antipov were doing all the work themselves.

Then she realized why: there was no more excavation that needed to be done. Someone else must have taken care of that earlier. All that remained was for Cuvee and Antipov to discover how to get past the last barrier: an enormous stone slab reaching from the floor to the ceiling of the cave. It was covered in riddles and codes very few people would know how to decipher. Cuvee and Antipov were two of those people.

Irina was another.

As she looked at the stone slab, she saw the answers as clearly as if they were written in her native Russian. Then she instinctively took a step backwards, her bag sliding from her shoulder to the floor as her mind raced to understand.

The slab did not lead to another artifact; it was the artifact. The weapon it spoke of was not something that Rambaldi had built or that someone else could assemble.

If Cuvee and Antipov were still here, that meant that they hadn't figured it out yet. And if they didn't know, then there was still time to stop it.

With trembling hands, she opened the bag and pulled out the C4 explosives she'd brought with her. She set the timer, then hurried out the cave, telling herself that not all prophecies came true.

Once she was out of the cave, she kept running, not entirely sure what was chasing her: the Covenant, Elena, Rambaldi, herself.

An explosion shattered the silence of the night, and Irina stopped, glancing backwards over her shoulder at the light. She heard angry voices, then resumed running.

Sometimes it seemed as if she spent her whole life running.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

_**Los Angeles, Day 239**_

_Jack's list regarding Lindsay has grown to almost four hundred._

_He stares at the prison psychiatrist; the doctor has gone behind Lindsay's back and requested an assessment of Jack's mental health. The woman in front of him looks far too sweet to be working in a place like this; she seems better suited to teaching kindergarten._

_Until she starts to speak, and Jack thinks she might even be able to give Barnett a run for her money._

_"Fine?" She challenges his response to her question. "You've been in solitary for eight months and you feel fine?"_

_"I like the quiet."_

_She makes a note in the file on her desk. "So you feel fine, and you like the quiet. Tell me, Agent Bristow, how many times in the last few months have you considered suicide?"_

_He narrows his eyes. "Not once."_

_"Do you hear voices? See things that aren't there?"_

_Irina. Sydney. "No."_

_"Do you feel angry?" She glances at the file. "I've been given access to all your files, Agent Bristow. I know the circumstances behind your incarceration twenty years ago and now, and I also know you're able to compartmentalize extremely well. Now tell me again, how do you feel?"_

_He glares at her; she doesn't even flinch. "I'd feel a lot better if I could leave," he says._

_"Where would you go, if you could leave?"_

_"I think I'd take a holiday. Somewhere warm." A lie. He'd go to Vladivostok._

_She nods. "And would your wife be there?"_

_He wonders suddenly if perhaps Lindsay has put her up to this after all, if he's changed tactics, hoping Jack will spill all to a shrink._

_Jack's not that stupid._

* * *

_December, Vladivostok_

Irina couldn't get warm. Despite the layers of clothing she wore – including the sweater she'd stolen from Jack – and the blanket she'd cocooned herself in, there was still a chill that refused to dissipate.

This time last year, she'd been with Jack, making love in front of a fireplace.

The year before, she'd been in a CIA cell, but it hadn't mattered because Sydney had come to visit.

Now, she was as alone as she had been for twenty years.

Her hand snaked out of her blanket-shell to grab the bottle of vodka on the coffee table. She shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch, having decided she could finish her book another day. Right now getting drunk seemed like a much better idea.

There was a knock at the door.

Irina frowned; Katya hadn't said anything about coming, and she usually didn't bother to knock. It had become something of a running joke between the two of them that Irina didn't need to give Katya a key because she was perfectly capable of picking the lock and bypassing Irina's latest security system.

There was the sound of someone trying to pick the lock. Irina took a sip of vodka then returned the bottle to the coffee table before reaching for her gun. If it wasn't Katya, then she was just grumpy enough to shoot whoever was foolish enough to break in.

A few minutes later, she heard the front door open and close, and a familiar voice muttering curses in a variety of languages.

"I should make you wash your mouth out with soap," she said when Sydney finally entered the living room.

"You could have just let me in." Sydney dropped onto an empty couch and shivered. "It's freezing here."

Irina unwrapped herself, then fetched a blanket for Sydney. She took another look at her daughter, then went to the kitchen and started boiling water for tea.

Sydney followed her into the kitchen, now wrapped in the blanket.

"I told you it wasn't safe to meet," Irina said.

"I never agreed to that." Sydney sat at the kitchen table, looking curiously around the room. "It's a nice house. Did Dad ever come here?"

Irina busied herself with making the tea. "No. He was going to, before he got caught."

"I think he would have liked it."

Irina set a cup of tea in front of Sydney, then filled a hot water bottle and gave it to her as well. She took her own cup of tea and sat on the other side of the table.

"I miss Dad." Sydney stared into her teacup as she spoke, and she reminded Irina of the five-year-old Sydney who had said the same thing when Jack was late returning from an assignment.

Irina replied the same way now as she had then. "Me too, sweetheart."

Sydney looked up in surprise. Then she put her cup down and pulled the blanket tighter around her body. "We never had a proper Christmas after you – left."

Irina said nothing.

"This time last year, I went to LA. I just wanted to see Dad, to make sure he was doing okay. He wasn't there, so I just drove around for hours. I ended up outside Vaughn's house. _He_'s doing just fine. I guess he couldn't have cared that much, if he moved on with his life so quickly." The pain in Sydney's voice cut Irina deeply.

"Sweetheart—"

"Dad never moved on after you died, Mom. Never."

"Neither did I." Irina wrapped her hands around her cup of tea, trying to draw warmth from it. "Your father was with me last year, Sydney."

The look in Sydney's eyes told Irina she had already guessed that. "I'm glad he wasn't alone."

Irina reached across the table and covered Sydney's hand with her own. "And this year, you're not alone."

"But he is." There was no hint of accusation in her tone, but Irina felt it nonetheless.

"Next year, we'll all be together."

Sydney stared at the table for a long time. When she raised her eyes to meet Irina's, her expression was blank. "Cuvee was not happy at losing the artifact."

Irina shrugged. "He wouldn't have known what to do with it anyway."

"You did destroy it, didn't you?"

"Yes." The truth was too complicated to explain. The truth would cost her both her daughters.

They didn't speak for a while, just sat in the silence and drank their tea. Irina thought of how often she'd wished this table would see another generation of Derevko women around it, and she smiled.

"So why are you in hiding?" Sydney eventually asked.

"I have more enemies than friends." Irina smiled.

"Mom, that's not funny."

"The truth rarely is."

"Just – be careful, okay?" Sydney tucked her hair behind her ear. "I don't – I'm not ready to lose you again."

Irina would never understand how Sydney could be so forgiving of the people who had hurt her. She squeezed Sydney's hand and smiled again. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

_**Los Angeles, Day 257**_

_"Tell me about your daughter," the psychiatrist says._

_Jack studies his hands as he considers what to say. "Sydney is – the best thing about my life."_

_"It must have been hard for you when she died."_

_"Of course it was." _

_"Can you tell me how you felt, those first few days?"_

_"What does that have to do with anything?" His hands clench into fists._

_"I'm just trying to understand what drove you to work with your wife." A pause. "Ex-wife, rather."_

_Jack refrains from pointing out they're still married. "I'd rather not talk about her."_

_"You haven't denied that you were working together."_

_"I haven't confirmed it either."_

_"I see." She makes another note in his file. "Well, then, back to Sydney. My question still stands."_

_"How do you think I felt?"_

_"May I be frank with you, Agent Bristow?"_

_He resists the urge to roll his eyes._

_"I think your daughter was your whole world," she continues. "I think losing her drove you to the edge of despair. I think you would have been willing to work with the devil himself to get revenge for her death."_

_Jack glances at the clock on the wall. "Our time's up, Doctor."_

* * *

_January, Vladivostok_

"The point of being in hiding," Katya said, "is to stay out of sight."

Irina didn't glance up from her laptop. Katya stepped into the kitchen and walked to the table. She knelt on the floor next to Irina, then lifted the edge of Irina's shirt.

"Katya—"

Katya ran her fingers lightly over the bandage covering Irina's side. "I thought Elena didn't want to kill you."

"Maybe she's changed her mind." Irina shifted away from Katya, pulling her shirt down again to cover the bandage.

"Stupid suka." Katya rose and perched herself on the edge of the table. "What were you doing in Kuala Lumpur anyway?"

"I heard Cuvee was there." Irina powered down the laptop and pushed it away.

Katya grimaced. "What possible reason could you have for wanting to meet him?"

"I didn't go there to meet him. I'd heard he was meeting with Elena – which he was."

"I would have gone for you, if you'd asked me to."

"And blown your cover."

"Better that than getting yourself killed."

"I'm not dead, am I?"

"Not for lack of trying."

They looked at each other. Katya smiled first, then Irina, and before long, both were laughing. Ever since they were young girls, Katya had always been able to make Irina laugh.

"You have more lives than a damn cat, Irisha." Katya hopped off the table and hunted through the cupboards for a glass.

Irina rested her head in her hands, her elbows on the table, serious again. "I'm tired, Katya."

Katya took two glasses from the cupboard and filled them both with vodka. "We'll find Nadia."

"Maybe she's safer if she's never found." She thought of the stone slab she'd destroyed outside Tehran and sighed. "Safe from Sloane, anyway."

"He thinks she's his?"

"Yes."

Katya put one of the glasses in front of Irina. She downed her own drink, then refilled her glass before putting the bottle on the table. "Jack will hate you if he hears about her from Sloane."

"Jack already hates me."

"Is that why you've left him languishing in prison? To punish him for hating you?"

Irina sat up straight and glared at Katya. "No!"

Katya chuckled. "Oh, relax. You're too easy to tease, you know that?"

"Katya, don't." She leaned back in the chair and reached for her drink. Her thoughts returned to Jack; she could well imagine his situation right now. She was no stranger to solitary confinement either.

She wondered, too, how much longer he would last before he gave in and told them where to find her. As long as he believed she was looking for Sydney's killers, he would say nothing. But he didn't know Sydney was alive.

She needed to get him out of there, even if the price was her own life.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

_**Los Angeles, Day 300**_

_Jack's sessions with the doctor end when Lindsay hears about them. Jack doesn't care. He prefers his own company._

_His days resume their usual routine: eat, sleep, eat, sleep, eat, sleep. There's comfort in the monotony._

_Jack's list stands at five hundred._

_He thinks about what could have been. Pictures other children: another girl with her father's eyes and her mother's smile, a little boy with dimples and curls. He aches for the past they never had. He wishes. If only._

_It hurts too much to think about what never was._

_So—_

_He thinks about what he'll do if he ever gets out. They'll be watching him, of course, and he cannot lead them to Irina. His carelessness could be her downfall, and he has not spent the last ten months protecting her only to fail her._

_Still, he cannot believe he won't see her again._

_He thinks of Sydney. They have so much catching up to do – a lifetime's worth of things to say to each other._

_Maybe he'll take a holiday after all; a father-daughter cruise or something. with a stopover at one of those places where bad things happen to unsuspecting tourists. It would be easy for the two of them to disappear._

_He wonders if Sydney'll like Vladivostok._

* * *

_February, Mexico City_

Irina knew the wisest course of action, considering that she was still recovering from her previous injury, and considering the price on her head, would have been to send someone else to this meeting. If Katya knew where she was, she would undoubtedly have something to say.

Still, here she was, sitting in a hotel room that had seen better days, waiting for a man she hadn't met in person before.

There was a knock at the door. She tensed.

"Room service!"

"I didn't order room service."

"It's on the house."

Code words exchanged, Irina opened the door with one hand, her gun in the other. Diego Martinez stepped inside, giving her a nervous half-smile.

She didn't return the smile. "You're late."

"It doesn't hurt to be cautious." He sat in one of the available chairs and pulled a rolled up sheet of paper from his bag. Unrolling it, he spread it out on the table. "Bristow's still in solitary. He has exercise time twice a week, an hour each time."

Martinez gestured to an area on the blueprints. "Here's the exercise yard. Here's his cell. The guards are on a shift rotation of six hours. Probably the best time is—"

Gunfire raked across the room. Martinez fell backwards from the impact. Irina dove to the floor, quickly crawling to a safer position on the other side of the bed. She curled up, covering her head with her arms. As soon as the gunfire stopped, she quickly jumped up to grab the blueprints.

The shooter fired again. A bullet caught Irina in the shoulder. She ran, flinging open the door, and sprinting down the hallway as fast as she could. She didn't feel the injury, propelled purely by adrenaline. Reaching the fire escape, she hurried down, thankful that there were only two floors until she reached the ground. Down the street, to her car. Her driver was surprised when she got in, but he asked no questions and immediately started driving.

Irina reached forward and took her driver's cell phone; hers had been lost sometime during the flight for her life. She punched in Katya's number, then collapsed against the seat.

"Misha, it's been a while," Katya purred.

Irina didn't have the energy to wonder what her sister had been up to with her driver. "Katya—"

"Irina?"

"I—" Irina caught sight of Misha's concerned gaze in the rearview mirror. She held out the phone for him to take, belatedly noticing that her hand was covered in blood. Glancing down, she realized the front of her shirt was also covered in blood, as was most of the seat. "Shit."

As Misha explained the situation to Katya, Irina closed her eyes and let the darkness claim her.

Katya looked furious. She sat at the foot of Irina's bed, her glare focused solely on her sister. Irina managed a weak smile. "Hi."

"Do you have a death wish?" Katya folded her arms across her chest. "Of all the stupid things . . . only you would do something this foolish for that man!"

"Won't abandon him, Katyusha." Irina felt like she was floating, that reality was something distant and unfamiliar. She recognized the morphine high and fleetingly wondered how badly she'd been hurt.

"Oh, you're awake."

She turned her head and saw Aisha standing in the doorway.

"Your husband is not going to be happy, Ms Derevko." Aisha approached the bed, and firmly but gently checked the dressing covering Irina's shoulder.

Katya mumbled something Irina didn't quite catch, but she was sure it was less than flattering.

"In good hands, though." The drug was making her drowsy, and she felt herself slipping back into the darkness.

"I don't understand you, Irisha. What's so special about this man? There are other men."

"Not for me." She imagined she saw Jack in front of her and she smiled. She drifted to sleep with his name on her lips.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

_**Los Angeles, Day 322**_

_Jack wishes they'd trust him with a razor; this beard is getting ridiculous. There's no mirror in his cell, so he can only imagine what he looks like._

_In the early years of his marriage, he'd grown a beard. His wife had refused to kiss him until he got rid of it. "You're not a caveman, Jack."_

_Sydney had grabbed his cheeks and squealed, "You look like a bear, Daddy!"_

_He remembers the expression on Irina's face during their mission in India; he'd known exactly what was going through her mind._

_Thinking of her now, the ache is almost physical. He doesn't want to be here anymore; he wants his family back._

_He wants his life back._

_He wishes he'd never made her promise not to come for him._

* * *

_March, Vladivostok_

Katya and Aisha had teamed up to make sure Irina stayed in Vladivostok while she was recovering. Katya called every day to check that Irina hadn't gone off on another attempt to free Jack or find Elena.

Even if Irina wanted to, she knew that at the moment, in her present condition, she was unable to. The bullet had almost killed her, and it would be months before she regained her previous strength. So she stayed at home under Aisha's watchful eye and ran her operations via her laptop.

Sydney arrived one morning towards the end of the month. "You should have told me sooner," she said, before inspecting Irina's injury for herself.

"I'm fine." Irina directed the comment to both her daughter and her nurse.

Sydney waited almost two days before finally telling Irina what was on her mind. Aisha had gone to her room for the evening prayers, and Irina and Sydney were at the kitchen table.

"I'm done with Julia, Mom."

Irina tilted her head curiously, waiting for more.

Sydney absently played with a knife, her eyes darting around the room. "I've found someone who can help me. It's – it might be dangerous, so I wanted to say – I'm glad we found each other. It's – I guess this is goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"It's an experimental procedure. There's a chance that – well."

"Sydney, no."

"I have to, Mom." Sydney stopped playing with the knife and looked at Irina. "It's the only way I can get out. But if it works, I won't remember any of this. I won't remember you."

Irina looked at Sydney for a long time, then walked around the table and hugged her. "Do what you have to do, sweetheart. I love you."

Sydney put her arms around Irina. "I love you too, Mom."

"Is there anything – can I help you?"

Sydney's arms tightened. "Will you come with me? I don't want to be alone."

"Of course."

"Mom, if something goes wrong, make sure Dad knows – tell him I love him. And I'm sorry."

Irina blinked back tears. "Nothing's going to go wrong. You tell your father you love him yourself, okay?"

Sydney nodded. "And, Mom, you've got to promise me you'll be more careful."

"Who's the mother here, hmm?"

Sydney laughed. Irina kissed her forehead.

"I'm proud of you, sweetheart. I don't think I've told you that, but it's something you need to hear."

"Mom—"

"Shh. I'm not finished." Irina smiled. "I know I'm not the mother you deserve or the mother you want. But I wouldn't change a single thing about you, Sydney. You've always been so perfect."

"Mom, I'm not perfect." Sydney's cheeks were red.

"You are to me."

Sydney smiled. "You're not so bad yourself."

Irina felt a weight lift from her, one she hadn't even realized she was carrying. Yet even now, she knew it wouldn't last. Before long, her daughter would be lost to her again, and all the progress they'd made would be something only Irina remembered.

But she would give that up too, if it would set Sydney free.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

_**Los Angeles, Day 349**_

_A year, Jack thinks._

_What could happen in a year? People could die. People could forget._

_"Come for me." The words are whispered into his pillow. "Come get me."_

_He closes his eyes and sees a child on a swing. "Higher, Daddy! I want to fly!"_

_He sees that same child, years later, solemnly writing a letter to her dead mother._

_The child, now a teenager, screaming, "I hate you! Just leave me alone!"_

_"Sydney," he weeps into the pillow, "Sydney, Sydney."_

_He thinks he's losing his mind. _

_Sydney's lost to him._

_Irina's never going to come._

* * *

_April, Hong Kong_

Irina watched from a distance as her men left an unconscious Sydney in an alley. One of them remained to make sure no one took advantage of her state; he left only when Sydney began to stir.

Irina kept her gaze on her daughter, watching as she slowly struggled to her feet and looked around in confusion, as she stumbled to the nearby payphone. Irina's grip on her cell phone tightened as she wondered: had the procedure worked? If her phone rang now, she would go to Sydney and take her home while they figured out what to do next. She wanted the phone to ring, wanted Sydney not to have forgotten her. (Before the procedure, Sydney had hugged her and said, "I love you, Mom. Whatever happens, I needed you to know that.")

Her phone never rang.

Sydney stepped out of the phone booth and hugged herself as she glanced around uncertainly. Irina fought to restrain the urge to make her presence known.

She followed Sydney to the safe house, again keeping her distance. She was witness to the reunion with Vaughn, then Sydney's attempt at an escape. Even once the CIA agents had taken Sydney away, she remained where she was, her tears drying on her cheeks.

* * *

_Vladivostok, a few days later_

Katya perched on the edge of the kitchen table, flipping through the photographs that she'd brought Irina. Irina snatched one away from Katya, then looked at it, her fingers brushing over the face of the man captured in the image.

Katya sniffed. "He looks better without the beard."

Irina didn't say anything, just smiled as she continued to stare at her husband's picture.

"Well, you got what you wanted," Katya continue. "What are you doing here? Your American is waiting."

"He has Sydney back. He doesn't need me now."

"I told you he'd break your heart again." Katya dropped the remainder of the photos in front of Irina and hopped off the table. "I still don't know what you see in him."

Irina spread the photos over the table. "He looks happy."

"Of course he's happy, he's just been released from prison."

"No." Irina shook her head firmly, then picked up a photograph of Jack with Sydney. "This is why."

"Okay." Katya had never had much patience when it came to talking about Jack. "And now that he's out of prison, and Sydney's herself again, we can go back to looking for Nadia."

Irina put the photo down. "No."

"No?"

"Katya, if Nadia's ever found—" Irina reached for her now-cold cup of coffee. "She's only safe if no one ever knows who she is."

"Irina—"

"It's the only way to prevent the prophecy from being fulfilled. It's the only way she and Sydney can stay safe."

Katya just looked at her. "You've spent twenty years trying to find her."

"I know."

Katya nodded slowly. "Alright."

Irina turned her attention back to the photos. Katya put a newspaper on the table, and her tone was gentler as she said, "I almost forgot. Today's paper."

Irina smiled at her sister, then opened the paper to the personals. She didn't really expect—

Yet there it was: Jack's message, the code they'd created together.

Hope kindled within her.


	25. Epilogue

_June, Los Angeles_

Irina woke with the certainty that she was not alone in the bedroom. Keeping her eyes closed, she concentrated on breathing evenly as she feigned sleep. She heard the other person move slowly across the room, heard the soft rustle of clothing, the swish of fabric as the bed sheets were pulled back. She felt the mattress dip slightly, and then there was a warm hand curving over her hip.

"This is a nice surprise."

She smiled at the sound of his voice, then rolled over to face her husband. "Hello, Jack."

His hand stroked the expanse of bare skin at her waist. He frowned thoughtfully. "There's a beautiful woman in my bed; I'm not quite sure what to do with her."

"I have a couple of suggestions."

He smiled, then kissed her gently. "If you'd told me you were coming, I'd have left the office earlier."

"That would have spoiled the surprise." They kissed again; Irina found that she'd missed being in Jack's arms more than she'd realized before. It was always easier to lie to herself when they weren't together. But now, like this, she couldn't.

"I thought we couldn't meet," Jack said.

"I changed my mind."

He nipped at her throat. "I'm glad."

Irina let him kiss her for a moment longer, then she shifted away from him slightly. He didn't look pleased, but didn't say anything. Irina ran her fingers over his face, his shoulders, his chest. "How are you?" she asked.

"Fine." He caught her hand and raised it to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Jack, you were in prison for a year—"

"I'm okay, Irina."

"Don't pretend it doesn't matter, Jack."

He sat up, scowling. "I don't want to talk about it."

She sat up too. "I tried to get you out."

He looked at her, and she wondered if he believed her. Then he nodded, and she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her, one she hadn't even realized she was carrying.

"How is Sydney?" she asked.

"She lost two years of her life. It's been – difficult." Jack's expression changed slightly. "How much do you know about what happened to her?"

Irina told him about seeing Sydney in Rome, and the months following that meeting. "She wanted the procedure done, Jack. She said it was the only way to get her life back."

Jack took her hand again. "I'm glad you had that time with her," was all he said, and pulled her closer so he could kiss her.

"Wait, Jack." She'd spent months agonizing over whether or not to do this, and in the end she'd decided she had to. Twenty years earlier she had made the mistake of not trusting her husband, of trying to do things on her own. It was not a mistake worth repeating. She would give him this secret, the one she'd carried for far too long. "There's something I need to tell you."

He nodded for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. "When I was extracted in 1981 – I was pregnant, Jack. I gave birth to our daughter in that prison in Kashmir."

His fingers tightened on hers. "Our daughter?"

She nodded, fighting back tears. "She was so small, smaller than Sydney. I held her for just a moment, before she was taken away."

The muscles in Jack's face tightened and he said nothing for a long time. Irina couldn't bear to guess at what he was thinking. When he spoke again, his tone was gentle. "Irina, why didn't you tell me before?"

"You didn't need another reason to hate me."

"I don't—" Jack stared at her. "Were you alone? Was it difficult?"

"My sister was with me. Elena. She took Nadia away."

"Nadia." Jack whispered the name almost reverently.

"Jack, there's more." This was the part she least wanted to tell. "A few weeks before my extraction, I was ordered to seduce Arvin Sloane."

Almost immediately, his expression darkened. "And did you follow these orders?"

She nodded once.

"So Nadia might not be my child after all." He let go of her hand.

"She is yours! I knew I was pregnant before—"

"Before you fucked my best friend."

"They were concerned about my loyalty. I would have done whatever they asked—"

"So you could prove yourself the good little KGB agent?"

"So I could stay with you and Sydney!" She climbed off the bed and began to get dressed. "I was wrong to come here."

"Wait," Jack said.

Irina didn't look at him, but continued dressing, pulling a sweater over her head. Jack got out of bed and grabbed her arm.

"You can't just say that and expect me not to react," he said.

"I know." She looked at him now, and felt a sharp ache in her chest as she registered the betrayal in his eyes. Was there anything she could do that wouldn't hurt him? They'd come so far in that year of working together, and now she'd ruined it. "I'm sorry," she said eventually, well aware that the apology was far too inadequate, but it was all she could offer.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"When, Jack? When we thought we'd lost Sydney?" She shook her head.

"So why now?"

His grip on her arm was tight, and Irina wanted nothing more than to rewind and start the evening over.

"Irina?"

"She's in danger. I don't know anymore if it's better to just leave her wherever she is, or if the only way to keep her safe is to start looking for her again." She shrugged weakly. "Sloane's trying to find her."

"There's your answer then."

"He won't find her. Only you can do that."

"Me?" His tone was skeptical.

She thought of the stone slab in the desert, saw the words that had been written on it as clearly as if they were in front of her now. Could she trust him with this secret too? Yes, she decided; she had no other choice.

"Rambaldi wrote that only the Passenger's father could find her—"

"Rambaldi again?"

"Jack, please, just listen."

He released her arm and sat on the edge of the bed.

"There's a prophecy about the Passenger – Nadia – and the Chosen One. They'll fight, and one of them will die." Irina shivered, though not from cold. "But not until after we – you and I, Jack – not until after we destroy each other."

Jack just stared at her, incredulous. "You believe this prophecy?"

"Jack, Rambaldi saw things—"

"Not all prophecies come true." He looked at her a moment longer, then stood again. When he touched her this time, he was gentle. "Irina."

She said nothing.

His lips brushed her cheek. "We're not going to destroy each other. I'm not going to pretend I'm not mad about – about Sloane – but I love you."

She met his gaze. Yes, there was pain in his eyes, but there was love too. Irina blinked back sudden tears.

"Now, it was a really lonely year," he continued. He slipped his hands underneath her sweater. "I've missed you."

"Jack—"

"I know. We have a minefield of things to work through, Irina, but surely they can wait until the morning?"

"Yes." She smiled, breathing out a relieved sigh. "I've missed you, too."

"And?" He pulled her closer.

"And I love you."

"Really? Prove it."

Laughing, she pushed him back onto the bed.

A long time later, she lay with her head pillowed on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. He was running his fingers slowly through her hair.

"Do you think we can resume our monthly meetings?" he asked.

"It's too dangerous. I don't want you in prison again."

"I won't get caught."

"I've heard that before." She propped herself up on her elbow. "And to be completely honest, meeting once a month isn't good enough for me."

She could see he was trying hard not to smile. "I see. Did you have something else in mind?"

"Well, I know Sydney already likes the house in Vladivostok."

Jack's hand trailed over her thigh. "I've always wanted to go to Vladivostok."

Things were not perfect, Irina thought; things would probably never be perfect, but Irina felt strangely at peace. She had not lost everything she thought she had.

For the first time since seeing that stone slab in Tehran, she felt something she could only describe as faith. Not in Rambaldi, but in her family.

"I love you," she said again.

"I know," Jack replied, and she could see in his eyes that he did.

_The End._


End file.
